


Misty Mauve

by MrsCaulfield



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Jealousy, Love Confessions, No Period Typical Homophobia, Pining, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Victorian romantic comedy, technically also a boss/secretary au, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23430358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCaulfield/pseuds/MrsCaulfield
Summary: After 13 years in London living with his snobbish cousins and being trained in the most frivolous accomplishments within high society, Aziraphale is uprooted by his father to move to the town of Milton-Northern, a manufacturing giant in the middle of the Industrial Revolution.While attempting to get accustomed to his new life, he meets the most disliked Master Anthony Crowley, a wealthy millowner in conflict with his own workers.Despite their difference in upbringing, the two forge a friendship in the most unlikely place when Crowley finds himself in need of a secretary who is well-versed in high societal social graces. But of course, nobody expects them to fall in love (jk, we all know they will fall in love). Victorian social satire AU
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 107
Kudos: 322





	1. To the North

**Author's Note:**

> A FEW POINTS OF CLARIFICATION:
> 
> -This is a loose reimagining of Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South. I say "loose" to mean that the premise is the same, but the events that will unfold will deviate greatly from the source material. Especially since the original North and South is, you know, kinda tragic and this fic is supposed to be a romcom.
> 
> -The story is set in the mid Victorian in the middle of the Industrial Revolution. It will be dealing quite a bit with business and the relationship of workers and masters. I feel it important to clarify that during these times, everything was still so new in the corporate world. Labour laws were scarce, the workers were only beginning to organize the first strikes, and there were no laws that provided them the right to Unionize. So yeah, you can imagine the potential of abuse by the mill owners present there.
> 
> -This fic is set in an idealised world and while I attempted to be as historically accurate as possible, I may have taken a few creative liberties to support the whole nonhomophobic and nonsexist vibe that I was trying to go for. This is not to say, however, that we should be erasing those aspects of history as it is important that we acknowledge the mistakes of the past so that we don't repeat them in the future.
> 
> Thank you and please enjoy the story!

**Chapter One - To the North**   
  


_Dear Aziraphale,_

_I have just heard the shocking news! I do hope this letter finds you before you have left for Milton. Perhaps you are reading this on the train, while you are on the way there. Indeed, I have not heard of anything that rattled me more._

_When your mother (may her departed soul be in peace), married your father, I understand that it was not to the family’s best wishes. She is, after all the daughter of a baronet, and he but a rector of a small village in the South. We may have had our reservations about him but never have we imagined that he would put you through such torture! He truly is the scummiest of men._

_I feel so sorry for you, dear cousin. It must be difficult to be the son of a rector who dissented from the Church. Most abominable! And it must be even worse for you to have to move to so far up in the North. I hear the air there is just horrid. Nothing but coal-stained chimneys as far as the eye can see. Why you did not defect back to us in London I could not understand. Though I suspect you may feel much obliged to your father, and I cannot blame you for being a dutiful son._

_I have not seen you since the wedding. Such a splendid affair, wasn’t it? My Lord Wesleyton definitely spared no expense. I am sure you have also heard that he has acquired Chilston House, which is not far from our family residence in London (about five miles only, I should say). If you ever find yourself tiring of life in the North (whatever life there may be in such a dreadfully boring place), do know that you are always welcome to return to the Angelfords’ residence. As you know, my siblings Michael and Uriel are yet unmarried and still reside there, and I can have little trouble in sparing a visit. We miss your company dearly._

_But not right now, of course. Lord Wesleyton has offered to take us all with him on his tour of Greece and Italy! I shall try to keep writing to you even so. I imagine you may not be in the best state of mind at the moment. But rest assured, Aziraphale, that though you have your father’s surname, the thirteen years you’ve spent with us was not for naught. You are an Angelford. Your place is here and always will be. And I hope you know that._

_Write to me, for your cousins are dearly curious about your well-being._

_Yours kindly,_

_Baron Gabriel A-Wesleyton_

_  
  
_

Aziraphale clutched the letter in his hands, tense fingers only barely managing to keep from crushing the parchment. With narrowed eyes, he folded it back and tucked it in the inner pocket of his coat.

From across the train carriage, his father spoke. “Not a pleasant letter, I presume?”

“It is from Gabriel.”

“Ah,” replied Mr. Fell as if that was all he needed to hear.

Mr. Fell was content with keeping the rest of the conversation unsaid, but Aziraphale’s emotions were threatening to burst.

“I’ve not seen him in six months since his marriage to that - that rich _bore_!” His legs crossed and uncrossed in front of him. “During which time, mind you, he barely said a word to me! And now he’s utterly convinced that you have gone fully insane and kidnapped me to go with you!”

Mr. Fell chuckled. “Now now, dearest. I am sure he means well.”

“How can you say that?” He was somewhat more unsettled by how calm his father was being. “After everything they’ve done to you? You’ve not lived with them. They are utterly ridiculous! And the things they’ve said about you—”

“Aziraphale, you know I could care less what your mother’s family thinks about me.”

“But you have done nothing wrong!” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Was it such a sin to be so in love?”

They sat in silence for a while, in fond remembrance of his late mother.

“Well, in any case,” Aziraphale said after some time, “I shall not let him bother me now. Once we get to Milton I will make a new life for myself. I am with you, father. And though I cannot claim to fully understand your reasons, I will fully support you.”

“You are too kind, my son. I’m not that old yet to be needing a caretaker.” His eyes filled with mirth suddenly turned remorseful. “I am very sorry, you know.”

“Father, we’ve talked about this—”

“Let me apologize again. I have failed our family. Indeed I would not have stopped you if you had decided to return to London instead of coming with me to a place neither you nor I have ever been to.”

Aziraphale settled back in his seat, looking out at the scenery moving at a much faster pace than any horse-drawn vehicle would allow. Though the clouds seemed to be steady, anything below the horizon moved past along a straight line, and he could see it all—yellow slowly fading into grey.

“Well I cannot claim to be all that happy about it.” Helstone, his home back in the South where he spent twelve happy years of childhood, was the picture of perfection. He cannot but help to look back on it fondly. Even through all his years of living in London, it had never occurred to him that he would one day leave it for good.

He looked back at his father, his thinning grey hair and kind light blue eyes. There were not many people brave enough to turn their back on their faith and their peers—their entire life for the sake of living earnestly to one’s self. And if it took having to be perceived as a radical intellectual and the radical intellectual’s son then so be it. As long as his father was happy.

“I am confident we will regain footing in Milton, somehow.”

* * *

The next couple of days were spent looking for houses. Housing in Milton was a jarring sight. Here it appeared that the rich lived amongst the poor, their stately homes looming over rows and rows of cramped, makeshift housing in a form of eternal, merciless standoff. Thanks to Sir Beel, Mr. Fell’s old friend from Oxford, they were able to secure a small but respectable home at a rate that was much less than they should have paid for it. It was a relief, for they needed to be accustomed to a different lifestyle from Helstone, where land was cheaper and the income was steadier. Aziraphale handled much of the negotiations with the landlord recommended by Sir Beel, as Mr. Fell was in an anxious state all throughout.

Aziraphale opened one of the windows and was instantly bombarded by the sound of rattling machinery. Outside stood a wide expanse of land where hundreds of workers milled about.

“That’s the Pulsifer Cotton Mills,” said their landlord when he spotted Aziraphale looking out of the window. “Belongs to the Lady Yvonne. Family practically runs this town.”

“Are they usually this noisy? Don’t the neighbors complain?”

“What’s there to complain about? The Lady herself lives in it. Right over… there.” the landlord pointed to the tallest structure in the yard.

“If they are to be our neighbors,” said Mr. Fell, “then we must make their acquaintance.”

Aziraphale considered this as he looked away from the window and strode off to the next object in the house that grabbed his attention. A pianoforte in the middle of the parlour. It was small, its wood chipped in various places. He gravitated towards it, pressing a few keys and feeling their resistance. It was a little out of tune, but he could work with it.

“Do you play, sir?” asked the landlord.

“A little.” An understatement, he knew. Playing was one of the few joys he had while living with the Angelfords. It was the only accomplishment in which he bested all of them.

“I hear the Lady has been looking for a piano tutor for her son, actually. Perhaps it might interest you?”

He had never been a tutor before, but there were few delights that granted him the feeling of playing on the piano, and any opportunity he could take to help out his father with running the household was welcome.

“I’d be delighted if you would recommend me to her.”

* * *

The Pulsifers’ home was one of the most overstuffed places he had ever been in, with stocks of ornate furniture that in no way matched one another. It was a recollection of the houses he visited in London—or a desperate attempt to copy them. In many ways, the house was like Lady Yvonne herself—tall, formidable, and dressed in fabrics of contrasting patterns. But thankfully unlike the people he knew in London, Lady Yvonne was _not_ fond of talking. She barely exchanged three sentences with him and he already got the job.

Slowly, they begun a new schedule. Mr. Fell took on several pupils in his private study to discuss philosophy and the great wonders of life. He seemed to be enjoying the role, and even spoke of one gentleman in particular who had taken so well to their lessons that he dared consider him a good friend. Meanwhile, Aziraphale went out a few days a week to the Pulsifers’ mills for his own sessions with John.

Despite the fact that he was warming up to it, his earnings as a piano tutor wasn’t nearly enough to contribute his fair share of household expenses, so Aziraphale kept his eyes peeled for new opportunities. They had about enough money from Mr. Fell’s savings to last them the next couple of months.

He tried to get accustomed to Milton, and was shocked to see that even something as mundane as morning walks would be so different. The streets were never clean, the pavement perpetually stained with a smattering of coal dust and wood shavings mixed with some cotton fluff. Many times he needed to walk along the road itself, quite in the way of carriages rushing past, because the sidewalks were filled with piles of wood and rubble. The air was heavy with smoke—even more so than in London where his late Aunt Cecilia never stopped complaining of pollution.

Aziraphale entered into a narrow alleyway which he discovered by accident during one of his previous walks. He’d gotten a little lost and had thought that the alleyway was a shortcut that led out into a street a block away from home. Instead, the dirt road led him further away from the town center. The large buildings were slowly replaced by dozens of shacks, their walls bare and their roofs concaved by the weight of soot. Some were merely abandoned large buildings around two or three storeys high, but all darkly renovated to become housing.

The road curved quite a bit and met a steep slope leading out to a canal. From there on, the road followed the canal’s shape, leaving only a narrow space in which barely two people could walk side by side. He felt stares from the inhabitants, leering at him from the windows and archways. He drew his gaze downwards, careful not to make a misstep that will cause him to slide down the slope and straight into the canal.

He drew close to one house—that of a young mother and her two children. Quietly, he placed a basket near the front door and fixed the placement of the brown tartan cloth over it. When the mother sees it, inside she will find some soup that he made just that morning. Satisfied, Aziraphale stepped back before someone noticed him.

“It’s you!” A female voice rang out from behind him. He froze. “You’re the one who has been giving out those adorable baskets!”

Slowly, Aziraphale turned around to see a woman well into her fifties, a full head shorter than him, her bright red lips stretched out into a beam.

Aziraphale forced himself to stop feeling as if he’d been caught doing something illegal. “How do you do, ma’am?” He said politely.

The lady pointed at the basket he’d just lain down. “When I started hearing about those from my neighbours, I knew it could only have been given by the kindest soul. But I have never seen you before. Surely I would have remembered such a beautiful face.”

Aziraphale flushed at the compliment which he only used to hear from his own mother. “I am Aziraphale Fell. My father and I have just moved here. We live over at Churley street.”

She nodded, then, realizing that he was also waiting for her to introduce herself, spoke again. “’Round here I’m called Madame Tracy.”

“And where do you live? It would be a pleasure to visit you and your family.”

“Oh dear.” She pressed a hand to her lips, pressed in amusement. “You really are not from around here, are you?”

“Pardon?” Aziraphale blinked rapidly. He may not be fond of socializing, but he’d always prided himself in being able to put up an educated sociable front when he needed to—a skill learned from years of mingling with strangers in London.

“It is rather strange for a stranger to expect that he’d instantly be welcome at another person’s house.”

“Is that so?” He smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid that is how we do things in the South.”

“You are not from Darkshire?”

“Heavens, no! I come from far beyond.”

“I thought as much. I am usually wary, but for you I am willing to make an exception. I actually live there.” She pointed at the house two lots away from where they were standing. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Fell? I shall introduce you to my husband. It’s not safe to be walking here alone dressed like that, you know.”

Madame Tracy’s husband was Mr. Shadwell who at the moment was in the middle of a drunken stupor, despite the fact that it was only two in the afternoon.

Madame Tracy introduced him to her husband, who merely grunted in response. They sure made an interesting pair, a harmonious juxtaposition of her sunny disposition with his gloomy countenance.

Their house was practically just one room. To enter the front door, he needed to duck down beneath a ladder leading to the next storey up, which probably belonged to another family. There were seats over by the fireplace with a table that appeared to be pushed around depending on the intended use of the owners.

The home did have an adjoining room, however. The archway was draped by dangling strips of shiny cloth, the room inside dimly lit. He peered into it, spotting a table covered by brightly patterned sheets and some cards.

“I do a bit of divination work,” Madame Tracy winked. “And occasionally I can channel the dead. Should you ever be in need of my services.”

Aziraphale was at a loss for words. “That is… quite gracious of you.” He returned to the main room, spotting Shadwell hunched over a bottle of gin.

“And what does Mr. Shadwell do?”

“’M a factory worker.” Shadwell strode over to the fireplace to poke at the wood. “At Pulsifer’s mills.”

“Oh, really? We live right next to the property.” Aziraphale said, grateful to have a topic of conversation they could focus on. “I give her son lessons on the piano.”

“Good for you,” he said, unmoving. “Dunno how you can stand to be in the same room as her.”

“Do you mean the Lady? I barely see her. I suppose she spends most of her time at the mills than inside the house.”

Shadwell scoffed. “Nah, she’s probably holed up in her quarters. Though sometimes she may be outside, grooming her claws.”

Seeing Aziraphale’s obvious confusion, Madame Tracy explained. “The masters are… not well liked.”

“Are they really so bad?”

The look that Shadwell shot him made him regret asking that question.

He tried again. “So there are other _masters_ like Lady Yvonne?”

“Tons. Over here they mostly deal cotton,” said Shadwell. That’s not to say they are all like the Lady. She’s more exception than rule, she is.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and looked to Madame Tracy for help. Her expression was halfway between resignation and frustration.

“There are plenty of mill owners at Milton, Mr. Aziraphale, but they come and go. It is a ghastly business after all.”

“Then how is the Lady such an exception?”

Madame Tracy appeared hesitant. She shot Shadwell a curious glance.

“There is this legend—”

“—’Tis a true tale, woman!”

She pursed her lips. “ _Story_ going around. That in order for a master to survive in the business, they must— _Oh, must I really say it?—_ They must make a deal with a demon, so they say.”

“You mean they _become_ demons—”

“ _Shadwell!_ ”

“Milton has two such demons.” To amplify his point, Shadwell held two fingers before his face, his arm swinging wildly. “Their mills have been up and running and there’s no getting rid of them any time soon.”

“I suppose the Lady is one of them?”

“Witch.” Shadwell plopped back in his seat, returning to his bottle of gin.

“The other one,” said Madame Tracy, “Is the Master of Bentley Mills, Mr. Anthony Crowley.”

Shadwell’s face turned sour. “ _Heathen_.”

“I do not understand,” said Aziraphale, “how there can be such bad blood between masters and workers when you all are working for the same purpose.”

Shadwell slammed down his glass, gin spilling everywhere. Aziraphale jumped from his seat. Madame Tracy was unfazed.

“Why, they take us for idiots! Ten hours a day! Six days a week! And for what but the ten shillings we’ve been getting two years since! All while prices are rising. Them masters are good for nothing but swelling their own pockets while their workers starve to death.”

“It’s difficult work, Mr. Aziraphale,” said Madame Tracy a tad more calmly. “Cotton has to stay moist at all times or it may break, so the mills are usually very damp. And it is difficult to breathe, especially with all the fluff.”

“That’s… dreadful.” There were no factories in Helstone. For all his childhood Aziraphale knew only of life in the farmlands where tenant farmers and labourers had their own violent disputes, but no such abuse as large-scale as this. How many more househoulds like these are there? Were all these families subjected to such atrocities at the hands of the masters? “Do all the workers share such sentiments, Shadwell?”

Shadwell turned to his wife, jerking a thumb at Aziraphale. “Listen to him. He sounds like a child.”

“Be nice, you old goose. He is not accustomed to our ways here in Milton.”

Aziraphale despised being talked down on as if such means were beyond his understanding. He had quite enough of that from his cousins. But with everything he’d heard today, he came to realize that between living in Helstone and in London, he may have lived quite a sheltered life.

“I dunno how it is with you Southerners, but here in the North, we face our issues head on! No time for mercies! That’s why we in the Union plan to have a strike soon. That’ll show ‘em!”

“Dear, are you sure this is the right way to go about it?” Said Madame Tracy. “You know how the last time went _spectacularly_ well.”

“We won’t fail this time. I’ll make sure of it.”

“A strike sounds rather risky. I do hope that things do not go sour,” Aziraphale said.

“You know nothing of it, foreigner. Go home and play with your teapots or something.”

Madame Tracy whacked him over the head. “Now you be nice to this young man, or—”

“Actually, I do believe I should be going home now.” Aziraphale stood up, smiling politely. He did not want to stoke the fires of their argument. “My father will be wondering where I’d gotten off to.”

“I hope you’ll visit us again soon. You are most welcome here.” She pointedly ignored the disapproving sounds coming from her husband.

Aziraphale regarded the two of them fondly. For all their bickering, they did truly did seem to be a happy couple. For a while he envisioned his own parents, at that age, arguing over every little thing but happy and together in their remaining days.

“I will, Madame Tracy. Thank you.”

* * *

Aziraphale arrived back home, determined to spend the rest of the day curled up with a book. He had too much information to process. After everything he’d learned from the Shadwells about life in Milton and the lives of factory workers, the soup he’d given to that young mother’s doorstep seemed a great embarrassment. How on earth could there be people that allowed things to go this horribly, and to have these conditions be considered the norm, even?

For the first time since arriving in Milton, he wished he was back in Helstone. In fact, he wished they never had to leave it in the first place. If he could go back, if he only knew that his days there would be limited, he would never have gone to London. He would’ve rejected his mother’s and aunt’s inclinations. He would’ve fought with all his might to stay.

He composed himself for a few moments before remembering that he’d left the book he’d been reading in his father’s study. He walked over and paused at the closed double doors when he heard laughter coming from within.

It appeared his father wasn’t alone. Never mind, he will only be interrupting them a short while.

Aziraphale knocked twice and opened the door, stepping inside. The two men stopped their laughter. He closed the door behind him. “Sorry to interrupt, father. I’m afraid I left my book in here.”

The visitor stood up immediately from his seat the moment he stepped in the room.

“Ah, Aziraphale, you are home,” said Mr. Fell. “Come meet my star pupil. I’ve told you about him before, have I not?”

“I think you have.” Aziraphale extended a hand towards the stranger, whom he did not at all expect to be as young as he is. This man cannot be a few years older than himself. “How do you do?”

The stranger clasped his hand, giving it a firm shake with his long fingers. When Aziraphale looked at his face, his eyes were hidden by a pair of rectangular shaded lenses.

“It’s good to meet you. Your father has taught me so much.” The man had great posture and an easy smile. Aziraphale can almost deem his features quite handsome, were they not so tragically obscured by those lenses.

“I’m, um, glad he is making friends here.” Vaguely he realized they were still clasping hands.

“Aziraphale,” he heard his father say from somewhere. “This is Mr. Anthony Crowley. He runs one of the cotton mills here in Milton.”

_Anthony Crowley._

Aziraphale withdrew his hand.

His mouth fell open. “ _You_ are Mr. Crowley of Bentley Mills?”

Mr. Crowley, taken aback by this sudden change in demeanour, tilted his head in an almost comically snakelike fashion. “Indeed. I’m surprised you have heard of it.”

“Yes, I…” _Demon,_ said Shadwell’s voice in his head, which he promptly shook off. “I have heard many things about you.”

“Only the worst things, I hope.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I-I did not say whether they were good or bad things.”

Mr. Crowley grinned, and it was almost easy to believe him to be an actual demon with that sly expression. _Damn_ Shadwell for putting the idea in his head! “You have a very easily readable face.”

“What do _you_ know about my face?” He spun around in search of his book and walked straight to the corner of a sofa, the padded wood digging sharply into his thigh. Aziraphale drew a sharp intake of breath, pressing his lips to suppress a yelp of pain, keeping his back turned to Mr. Crowley the entire time.

An attempt was made to salvage the moment by elegantly stepping aside and leaning over the couch, feeling over the cushions. “My - uh, my book is not here.”

The book was turned face down on the carpet beside his father’s chair. He shuffled over to pick it up.

“My dear,” Mr. Fell said, sighing. “Mr. Crowley here has been incredibly charming in our little spirited discussions.”

“Perhaps, father. But we rarely know who a man really is on first meeting them,” said Aziraphale, unable to keep the snide out of his voice.

He pressed the book to his chest. Maybe that was rude of him to say—

“Pray tell me,” Mr. Crowley said after a beat of silence, “what kind of man I actually am, Mr. Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale grimaced, which he realized was ridiculous. He had absolutely no reason to fear this man.

“I know you tease me, Mr. Crowley. And perhaps you are right, I am not the best judge of your character for I have never met you before today. But I reckon your workers can judge you with fair accuracy.”

An eyebrow surfaced from above one of his lenses. “You have spoken to some of my workers?”

Aziraphale faltered. “Well, no… But I can tell you what they think of you!”

“My son, is this actually going anywhere? I think you are making our guest uncomfortable.”

“Oh no, Mr. Fell. On the contrary.” Mr. Crowley’s steps on the wooden floors drew near to his person. “I am quite interested to hear what your esteemed son thinks of me.”

Aziraphale stood his ground, hating the smugness in his tone. “If you think this is such a laughing matter, then I dare you to venture out into the streets and into the homes of your workers. They toil for hours on end and still have barely anything to eat!”

“Perhaps.” A pondering look crossed over his face. “Though I fail to see how that is any fault of mine.”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw. “I suppose I should have expected that from one who has had not experienced being in poverty.”

“I think you have no idea what you talk about, and I would tread carefully if I were you.”

“I’m—!”

“Aziraphale, that’s enough.” Mr. Fell stands up, stepping in between the two of them. “I believe you have said quite enough. Please see yourself out, and we _will_ talk about this later.”

Aziraphale looked between the two of them, horrified. He cast one final glance at his father’s furious face and stepped out of the room.

He was coming down from his fit as he paced the steps down to the kitchen. He drank a glass of water, trying to still his hammering heart. That had gone on disastrously! Would it have killed him to learn to keep his thoughts to himself?

He dreaded to see the man again. Mr. Crowley would likely humiliate him. Worse, what if he stopped coming to his father’s lessons? His father seemed to enjoy his company so much. Had he really gone and ruined that for him?

Maybe he should apologize. If he was still in London, he was certain Gabriel would have had his ear off with sermons by now. How could he have been so tactless!

The front doors opened and closed. After a few moments, Mr. Fell bustled down the steps, his face a canvas of shock.

“Father, I am sorry. What has he done? Has he told you off? Has he ended your sessions?”

“Aziraphale—”

“If he has turned his anger on you then I must make things right for your sake. It is me he should be angry at.”

“My son, no—”

“Then what did he say? Is it only me he is mad at? Has he hurled any insults at me, because I might just deserve it.”

“Aziraphale.” Mr. Fell stepped over to him, and Aziraphale could see the bewilderment written on his face. “He asked you to be his secretary. My dear, he has offered you a _job_.”


	2. The Master of Bentley Mills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to find out more about Crowley in this chapter

**Chapter Two - The Master of Bentley Mills**

_Dear Lord Gabriel,_

_How are you? Indeed it is a bit strange to be addressing you as_ _‘Lord Gabriel’ now instead of ‘Sir Gabriel’. I am grateful for your sentiments, but father and I have settled at Milton quite well. We have made a few friends, especially since father has started taking on pupils for his tutoring sessions. We are not in want of good society, despite how much smaller this population is compared to London._

 _As a matter of fact, I have just been invited to a dinner party hosted by the Lady Yvonne Pulsifer, one of the town_ _’s manufacturers. I rather think you will like her should you ever meet her. She has two sons, the younger of which I am giving piano lessons. I am writing this in a rush, for I shall be off for the party in a few moments and am now entirely dressed for the occasion._

_As for Milton itself, I shall agree it is quite a strange place. Poverty here is so exposed, unlike in London where I am sure it exists, but one must venture out on purpose in order to encounter it. It is so difficult to witness such things, I must say. Do you think that we have lived sheltered lives, cousin? I would say we have, for the things that are so obviously the norm here are the ones that shock me the most._

_Despite that, I should say that one redeeming quality of Milton is its people, for I have met a very diverse set of folk, from Lady Yvonne to the Shadwells among the working class. Each of them have their own charm, though not everyone has been pleasant, but they are all so interesting._

_Therefore, you need not worry about us. I hope you enjoy your tour of the Continent with Lord Wesleyton. I am not so settled here as my father is, but I am learning. I feel there are many things about Milton that I should like to pick apart and maybe assemble, and it is quite the mental exercise._

_Do send my regards to Michael and Uriel. When you return to London, I may perhaps pay a short visit._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Aziraphale Fell_

  
  


The party was a rather intimate affair of around thirty people or so, but the Lady spared no expense. The best furniture had all been laid out—intricate woodcarvings from the Orient, choice linen curtains from Greece, and tables of mahogany which servants most likely spent over four hours polishing. For a moment, Aziraphale thought he may have been transported back to one of the Angelfords’ parties.

Not sure who he might be able to talk to, Aziraphale approached the elder Pulsifer son, Newton. He stood alone to the side looking just as much out of place as Aziraphale did even though he was in his own house.

Newton greeted him with a shy smile.

“Hello, Newton. Should not you be entertaining the guests as well?”

“Mother prefers that I stay out of such things. I am afraid I’m a horrible conversationalist.” Newton shot him a nervous grin.

Looking at him, Aziraphale remembered his fifteen-year-old self, standing awkwardly aside as his cousins mingled smoothly with the guests, just as they had been trained to. He recalled the looks of disgust from Michael, but he cannot bring himself to do it. What would one like to say to the snobbish elite force with the propensity to eat edibles with the full intent of regurgitating them back out later on? He was drowned by the echoing voices under the room’s infinitely high ceiling.

“I know exactly how you feel,” he told Newton, who raised an eyebrow in response.

“How could you? You look every bit as frivolous as all the rest of them.”

By his grin, Aziraphale recognised his jest. Still, he considered his clothes. For this event he dressed himself in one of the suits he’d carried over from his life in London.

 _‘No Angelford can ever be seen wearing a suit subpar to anyone else in the party,’_ Gabriel always told him. _‘But even the finest suit degrades in quality when worn on an ill-shaped figure. Do watch what you eat, sunshine.’_

He became aware of how tight his cream tailcoat was on his frame. It had been a while since he last wore it, but he hoped it would be redeemed by the rest of the ensemble. Chains of gold trailed out from the buttons of his waistcoat, embroidered with a foreign pattern of the same striking gold. In his pastel suit, Aziraphale stuck out among a sea of blacks and greys. He was already being stared at.

“Oh dear. I fear I may have miscalculated on the colour scheme of my suit. I did not know that bright colors have not yet made it into the fashion consciousness outside of London.” Then, realizing how snobbish that made him sound, “–Not that there is anything wrong with it! I mean, I just–I stick out rather oddly,” he finishes lamely.

Thankfully, he was saved from further scrutiny when he heard the footman’s announcement of newcomers.

“My Lady, here are Mr. Anthony Crowley and Miss Anathema Device.”

Aziraphale stiffened. He had not seen Mr. Crowley since their first meeting, and had not much time to decide on his peculiar offer. He had hoped, that since the Lady and Mr. Crowley had some kind of a dislike towards one another, that he would not be invited to this party.

“Are you alright, Aziraphale?” Newton asked from beside him.

“Quite. I am surprised that Mr. Crowley is here.”

“Ah, yes. If you refer to his and my mother’s silly dispute, yes it is off-putting. But to disinvite Mr. Crowley at all would be distasteful. The same goes for my mother.”

If Aziraphale thought his appearance stuck out, his concerns must be unmatched to Mr. Crowley’s. The man had his deep auburn hair tied up in a bun. He had on a black shirt and waistcoat, ensconced within a velvet overcoat in the most exquisite shade of wine, with sterling silver buttons lined up in perfect order, and collar tips extending out like ink black wings. Most oddly he was wearing a scarlet fabric tied around his neck in the laziest knot Aziraphale had ever seen, exposing the column of his neck and— _‘Unforgivably lewd!’, Gabriel would have commented_ —the dip between his collarbones.

The lady by his side had long raven hair, golden brown skin, and an ensemble of verdant green and black fabrics. What a head turner they were, as they were easily the most handsome pair in the room. It made perfect sense, of course, for Mr. Crowley to have a partner who commanded just as much attention as he did. It built rather well into that smug persona he so deeply liked to cultivate for himself.

Mr. Crowley looked about the room and caught Aziraphale’s gaze. He grinned.

Aziraphale looked away.

Lady Yvonne called the attention of the party and announced that dinner was about to commence.

“That, I believe, is my cue,” said Newton, giving a slight bow to Aziraphale. He strode over to Lady Yvonne’s side, who then took his arm.

The attendees looked amongst themselves, starting to pair up. Without Newton, Aziraphale knew no other person with whom he can enter the dining hall with. The only other person without a partner was a woman quite a few years older than he, sneering at him as she extended her arm. Aziraphale took her to be one of the tradespeople within the Lady’s circle of acquaintances. She did not look the least bit pleased, but Aziraphale gave his elbow for her to take.

Lady Yvonne and Newton led the party into the dining hall. Aziraphale recognised the heads of Mr. Crowley and Miss Anathema a couple of places before them. The pairs moved into the room, taking their designated seats around the host. Aziraphale’s seat was placed with another tradesman to his left and Miss Anathema to his right. Servants came in and served the first course, and Aziraphale braced himself for yet another night of lonely pretentious eating. At the very least, the food looked quite good.

He faced front and saw Mr. Crowley regarding him with what appeared to be a contemplative look, though Aziraphale cannot be so sure with those wretched lenses of his.

“Mr. Crowley,” he greeted. To be polite.

“Am I glad to see _you._ ” He grinned devilishly.

The dinner proceeded as usual. The food indeed was good, but when Aziraphale got well into the fish course, he had to remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to finish the entire thing. _To be polite._ The fish got pelted down to a fifth of its original size, and was left that way when the servants came to take it away again. The masters started to talk about business, and Aziraphale felt even more out of place.

“Crowley!” Said the man to his left after taking a huge gulp of wine. He reeked of alcohol and snuff. “Have you gone out of Milton to investigate the cause of these radically low prices?”

“No, Hastur, but it is to be expected,” Mr. Crowley replied in his usual drawling tone, as if explaining arithmetics to an imbecile. “The Americans have been mass producing their yarns. One must also consider that it is almost winter, when there is not much demand for cotton.”

“And there is that bloody Union to deal with!” Exclaimed the lady that Aziraphale accompanied into the room. “Why if I had my way with things, I’d sooner gun down all those idiots and their foolish demands!”

The chuckles that followed the comment made Aziraphale cringe. The silverware dug heavily into his clenched palms.

“We are not so violent as you think we are, Dagon,” said Lady Yvonne, taking a sip of her drink. “There is nothing to be gained but blood on our hands. Do not be foolish yourself.”

“Ain’t that how it’s always been done, though?” Piped Hastur. “And rather effective, may I say! Word is they’re planning another strike soon.”

“What is it now? Twelve shillings? Fifteen?” Dagon chuckled madly. “D’you know, the fools have been rattling on and on about fluff getting in their lungs and giving them… diseases or whatever. They wouldn’t give me a break until I had those wheels installed! Bloody things cost me a fortune to maintain! And you know what they told me?”

“What?” Said Lady Yvonne.

“They said they realized since the fluff’s disappeared, they’d been getting hungry more often! So I took them out again! Nasty insolents.”

Aziraphale gritted his teeth as roaring laughter erupted from the audience. He dared look up. Mr. Crowley was not laughing.

“Y’know who’s been silent ‘bout all this?” said Hastur. “Crowley, you must’ve something to say to that. Eh?”

Mr. Crowley dug a knife into his steak, grinding it silently. “I know not what you mean. I have had wheels installed in all my mills for two years now.”

The table grew uncomfortably silent. It occurred to Aziraphale, as Mr. Crowley took a bite of his dinner with a satisfied grin, just how much younger he was than all the other masters in the room.

“And in any case.” Mr. Crowley carelessly waved a fork in the air. “This isn’t the first time we’ve handled strikes and hardly the first time prices have gone this low. We do as we always do—weather out the storm. I, for one, am considering importing Irish hands.”

The others looked to Lady Yvonne, eager to see what her response will be. “It is a risk,” she said. “Irish workers cannot produce the same quality of work as the English do. You will be straining many resources.”

Mr. Crowley shrugged. “Suit yourself. I have several pending orders. We will manage, Lady Yvonne.”

The rest of the dinner passed by without event. The party withdrew to the parlour, where several masters have already gathered up around the card table for a game of whist. Lady Yvonne, upon passing by him, requested that Aziraphale take command of the pianoforte. Aziraphale accepted it, eager to be able to pass the time with a delegated task.

He played a fast-paced Schubert, pressing the keys with more force than what may have been required necessary to be melodic. It was easy to lose himself in the notes which were practically muscle memory to him now. A look of intense concentration on his face, he glided through the piece as the chatter about the room faded to background noise.

That was, until he saw an elbow rest on the piano body beside him. His face snapped up in annoyance, his hands took to the piece still.

“Have you thought of my offer, Mr. Aziraphale?” Said Mr. Crowley as he pushed the lenses up his nose. He was annoyingly handsome and it grated on his nerves.

“As you can see, I am quite busy.”

“Surely you can spare me.”

“No I cannot.”

Mr. Crowley stood up straight. Aziraphale released a breath, relieved that he was to be relinquished. Or so he thought.

“Ligur!” Mr. Crowley beckoned someone over. “How’d you like to take over from here? I’m sure we all miss your dear performances.”

Ligur beamed and looked at Aziraphale. “May I?”

Aziraphale looked between the two of them, and with one last garble of notes he stood up angrily.

He followed Mr. Crowley to one side of the room just as the opening notes to what little resembled ‘Ave Maria’ started playing.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Mr. Crowley snorted. “I have no idea what you are talking about. He is a much _spirited_ performer.”

The piano keys were now being pounded into submission as Ligur let out some accompanying vocals.

“He is completely butchering the piece!”

“But are you really that much better, though?—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Aziraphale. You’re brilliant!” Mr. Crowley grabbed his arm just as he had started to walk away.

He whirled back, pulling his arm out of his grasp. To his benefit, Mr. Crowley actually did look apologetic. He folded his arms across his chest. “ _What is it?_ ”

Mr. Crowley, satisfied that he now had his attention, relaxed. He handed Aziraphale the drink he had been holding. Aziraphale took it warily. “D’you know, I could almost have expected you to jump in our conversation a while ago.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Aziraphale lied.

“Please. I can feel you itching to stick your fork into Hastur’s thigh.—Why didn’t you, by the way? Would’ve done me a huge favour.”

“I had no idea you were so empathetic.”

“Though I flatter myself to think that you were on my side there.”

Aziraphale huffed. “It is not impossible for me to agree with you on some points. Do you think me so stupid as to oppose you merely for the sake of opposing?”

“Oh, I don’t dare to.” Mr. Crowley looked on at Ligur, who was still deep into his masterpiece. “I know you have your views. Which is why I’m flattered we’re on the same side for once. Your intellect is twice the worth of the Lady’s, and surely a great deal worth more than Hastur’s.”

He did not know how Mr. Crowley had gotten so close, but he was now only a couple of steps away from Aziraphale, who now had to crane his neck to look him in the eye (lens?).

He flushed at the unexpected compliment, then rushed to recollect himself. “I do not know how you wish me to respond to that.”

Mr. Crowley flashed him a grin before looking around the rest of the room. “Look at all this rubbish. The Pulsifers really are the most pretentious bunch.”

Aziraphale felt a spark in defense of his friend. “I disagree. Lady Yvonne does so like to keep her airs, but her sons are nothing of the sort. And I speak confidently as a tutor in their household.”

“I suppose the older son is not a bad sort. I would go so far as to find him more agreeable than the Lady. He is most dissimilar to his mother. Unfortunately for him, that also means he has not any of the qualities of a Milton man.”

“A ‘Milton man’?” Aziraphale scoffed. “A label as superficial as all the curtains in this room, put together.”

“I take offence in that.”

“Then I am glad.” Aziraphale looked away from him.

“You do realize she expects him to succeed her.” Mr. Crowley stepped even closer, and the sides of their arms brushed with every slight movement. Heat prickled from a point contact on his sleeve. “Not a single one of us, least of all _him,_ believes he can do it.”

“Well, I do,” said Aziraphale. “I care not for one’s Milton man’s qualities so long as they are a gentleman.”

Mr. Crowley tipped down his chin, lenses sliding down his nose and revealing a pair of honey-gold eyes that took him aback. “Careful, Aziraphale. You tempt the line bordering intuitive and hypocritical.” He spoke in a hushed, daringly intimate manner.

Aziraphale hastily broke his gaze, aware that there were many people in the room and that some eyes had trained on them. “I do not know what you mean.”

“To measure one’s worth based on such gentlemanly qualities is in itself _superficial_.” He practically hissed the last word. “A gentleman describes one towards another. It is a chosen personality.”

“And I suppose a Milton man is any better?”

“I tell you not to consider the Milton man qualities, but the qualities of the man itself. When you regard a person, you look for the qualities within—those which are worth knowing.”

“I did not take you to be a sentimentalist, Mr. Crowley.”

“There are plenty of things you do not know about me,” he said with no hint of displeasure. “When I say I am a true Milton man, it does not mean that it meshes with, nor does it take precedence over how I am as a man in itself.” He captured Aziraphale’s gaze once again, his eyes radiating heat as they fell on his face, and seemingly to his mouth, down to his neck, before rounding back the journey to his eyes. “What say you to that, Aziraphale?”

“You _fiend!_ ” Aziraphale jumped back, increasing the distance between them. “Do you not worry at all about being perceived imprudent?”

“Beg your pardon?”

Aziraphale grew nervous. “It is but… an observation. I mean, a mere observer might take you to be, ah, _flirting._ ”

“And I am imprudent in what way?”

“Well, your _partner_ is in the room, for starters! You will be judged so poorly!”

For the first time since Aziraphale has met him, Mr. Crowley was dumbstruck. “My _partner_? Now I am sure you are mistaken.”

“Is Miss Anathema not your betrothed?” He asked, though judging from the look on Mr. Crowley’s face, he already knew the answer.

His eyes ran frantically over one of the curtains, eager to pinpoint on another subject. At _anywhere_ but the person he was talking to.

Mr. Crowley appeared just as speechless. “Not at all.” He cleared his throat. “I am unattached. Anathema is my sister.”

“Your _sister_?”

Mr. Crowley resorted to rambling. “I-well… she’s not my real sister. But ew, _no_!”

“What do you mean she is not your real sister? How does one acquire a _fake_ sister?”

“It is a long story.” Mr. Crowley picked at a lint on his sleeve. “And we _are_ related. I think. Hard to tell when everyone keeps dying around you.” He shrugged. “We were both orphaned around the same time. I was seven and she, much younger and very _very_ sick. So I obtained jobs at a coal mine and later at an iron mine, and she’s been in my care ever since.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale went silent, out of sympathy. He knew the pain of losing a parent, but to lose both and immediately succumb to poverty? He trained his gaze to the floor, painfully embarrassed by his misjudgment of Crowley’s character. “I am sorry. Indeed I cannot imagine you having worked in the mines at all.”

“Nah, there were plenty of jobs for scrawny little boys that age. Not everyone can fit into those tunnels and open those tiny doors.” Aziraphale remained silent. Mr. Crowley probably felt his remorse, for he switched to a jollier topic. “Point is, I set aside a portion of each of my wages. A while later I discovered little Anathema has an uncanny ability for predicting the future. Sometimes. I put all my savings into a speculation she foretold. Made enough money to pay all my late father’s creditors, then set up the mills.”

“That is incredible. Indeed, you must be so proud of what you two have achieved.”

Mr. Crowley chuckled. “Half my success I owe to her. Although do not let her catch me saying that, for I shall never hear the end of it.”

Aziraphale spotted Anathema across the room, chatting animatedly with his friend Newton. The sight made him smile. Newton already looked beyond besotted.

“When you told me off that first day we met,” continued Mr. Crowley. “I meant I what I said. I do not delight in seeing my workers’ misery, but I also do not control how they choose to spend their money, for when I was a labourer, I never once thought of spending it all on drink.”

“Why do you need me to be your secretary?” Aziraphale blurted out.

Mr. Crowley raised his brows, pushing his lenses back in place. “ _Finally_.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

“Well, since I set up the mills, Anathema has been my secretary. But she is to begin her physician’s training soon.”

“She is to become a doctor?”

He nodded. “She’s grown much attached to the ‘mystical arts’ of diagnosing illnesses. Anyway, I need a replacement. And I need someone capable. Someone I am confident does not fear me.”

Aziraphale considered this, twirling the glass in his hand. Judging by the man’s abilities to silence a room full of masters, he supposed there were not many people in Milton capable of satisfying that requirement.

“What will be my duties, specifically?”

“Hm. Anathema did not need to come into the mills on a daily basis. She was barely even there. I cover that part easily. She mostly did the more social aspects of the job. Organizing dinners, curating guest lists, and the like.”

Aziraphale cringed inwardly. “Is that all?”

“Actually, no. I’m afraid I will have to ask more of you than that, for my business is in a delicate state at the moment. I understand from Mr. Fell you have been educated among London’s high society?”

“Yes,” he replied faintly. “What does that have to do with this?”

“I am reinventing my business model, but for those plans to take place I am going to need investors. I have been invited to a few parties and I have plans to invite some men of… great importance.”

“But…?”

“I am a terrible host.” Mr. Crowley looked pained. “And guest.”

“So I am to act as what? _Social lubricant?_ ”

“Aziraphale,” Mr. Crowley’s expression turned sincere. “I have never… That is to say, these people—businesspeople, merchants—I have been around them all my life. But I cannot— _do not_ know how to interact with - with peers, or even anyone from the gentry. I need _your_ help. And I am prepared to pay handsomely for it.”

Interact with the gentry? Now there was at least something Aziraphale knew he can do with little trouble. Was not, after all, what he had been trained for? It may not be the job he wanted, but it could at least earn him some money quite easily.

“Fine,” he said. “When shall I begin?”

“Come by Bentley Mills next week.” He handed Aziraphale a card. “Address is written there.”

Aziraphale took a good look at it before tucking it into the pocket of his trousers.

“And with regards to your earlier remark, about the flirting…” He took on a teasing tone once again.

“I-I only meant to call attention to the stares you have been receiving! I did not want your actions to be misconstrued!”

Mr. Crowley looked amused. “You mean you regard the stares as coming from the manner in which I’ve conducted myself?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks filled with warmth. “It is a possibility.”

Mr. Crowley huffed out a laugh. “Come now. Are you so accustomed to being the most beautiful person in the room, that the stares you receive do not register to you at all?” He said flippantly.

Aziraphale choked on his drink. “You - you are - mistaken,” he said in between the most elegant bouts of coughing and wheezing.

Mr. Crowley, satisfied with the turn of the conversation, flashed him a grin. “You always mean to oppose me.”

With one graceful bow, he was gone.

Had he made the wrong choice, or was the fish actually really bad? Either way, Aziraphale spent the rest of the night trying, and failing, to quell the turmoil in his stomach. 


	3. Railways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale reports to work

**Chapter Three - Railways**

_Dearest Cousin,_

_I congratulate you on your new acquaintances. They sound most charming. However, I cannot glean what you find so interesting about them. Tradesmen and labourers are all the same. While I cannot stop you from acquainting yourself, there is not much to be gained by fraternizing with people of unremarkable lineage. Indeed, there is not a single bit of sense in a gentleman having to work for a single day’s living. Not to mention they are all so uncouth and arrogant!_

_My dear cousin, I know you capable of finding much more suitable company. Surely even in Milton there are those of the landed gentry? You must go out more into society and make yourself known._

_An exception, I believe, should be made for this Lady Yvonne that you speak of. For indeed I have never heard of a titled being having to take up the horrid task of manufacturing! She must have been disgraced by her family for even thinking of such a thing. She has my deepest sympathies._

_As for your question, I urge you not to trouble yourself. We are not the slightest bit sheltered. Why, you yourself have witnessed me donate my old clothes to charity many times! And I once made soup for the poor._

_It is exceedingly hot here in Greece. I find the morning walks most exhausting. It blisters my skin. And my back aches from riding a stagecoach all day. If you could but see me now, Aziraphale, I feel absolutely wretched! I do hope Naples will be much more agreeable._

_But never mind all those. I should like to know more about Milton. Your exotic accounts of it dearly interest me–like reading a Dickens novel! You like those books, do you not?_

_We may already be in Italy by the next time you write. I have taken the liberty of asking Lord Wesleyton of our expected residence and have attached it to the bottom of this page._

_All my regards,_

_Baron Gabriel A-Wesleyton_

  
  


Aziraphale steeled himself before the double doors leading to Mr. Crowley’s office. The footman, dressed in navy blue and silver livery, turned to him.

“Are you alright, sir?”

“Quite. Do go on.”

The doors opened into a dimly lit circular room. “Mr. Aziraphale Fell to come see you, Master Crowley.”

“Yes, send him in.” Mr. Crowley’s voice erupted from beyond the deep chestnut bookcases (which, much to Aziraphale’s horror, were barely half-filled).

Aziraphale entered the room and was surprised by how high the ceiling was. It certainly did not look as large from the outside.

Mr. Crowley appeared, in his linen shirt and waistcoat, having not even bothered to tie up his cravat at all. The offensive thing hung limply over his shoulders, making Aziraphale’s fingers itch.

The footman stepped back to the door, but Mr. Crowley snapped his fingers. “Ah, Bartholomew. Mr. Aziraphale is to be my new secretary. Make sure the others are informed.”

“I will, master,” Bartholomew replied, bowing low to Aziraphale before exiting the room.

“Right then! First order of business.” Mr. Crowley perched himself on a corner of his desk. Seeing Aziraphale standing awkwardly in the middle of the grand room, he gestured to a seat.

He sat down, eyes narrowing at the vast empty spaces in the bookcases in the room. “Have you no intention of filling those out? I am quite vexed.”

Mr. Crowley grinned widely. “Nope.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Perhaps now you may explain exactly what I am expected to do in this job.” Remembering the footman, he asked: “Must I call you ‘master’ as well?”

“You work for me now, do you not?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together, suppressing any scathing remarks threatening to come out of him. “Fine then, ma-master…”

Mr. Crowley burst into a fit of giggles, steadily gaining momentum until his booming laughs filled the room. Aziraphale pursed his lips.

“And may I ask what part of this you find so funny?” Aziraphale said, wincing.

“Surely you recognise I am in jest, Aziraphale.” He wiped the tears brimming his eyes and took a few breaths to settle down his mirth. “We need not be so formal with each other. Just call me Crowley.”

Aziraphale huffed, crossing his arms.

“Fine. As you were saying.”

Crowley rifled through the stack of letters on his desk. He took out an envelope, its flaps torn irregularly— _was it such a crime to utilise letter openers?_ —and handed it to Aziraphale.

“A Sir William Leigh is to visit Milton soon. He is an acquaintance of the Lady’s, though I have opened up a proposition to him regarding an investment into Bentley Mills via letter. We are to have him over as a guest and I should like everything to be done well. He is not an easy man to impress.”

Aziraphale read over the parchment, signed: _Sir William Leigh, Bt._

“Sir William? A baronet is to come to Milton?” Aziraphale distantly recalled Gabriel’s most recent letter regarding the absence of upper society in Milton. Certainly this will come to him as a shock.

“Yes, yes.” Crowley waved a hand flippantly, stretching out his gangly legs before him. “That is why I am counting on you to help. I’ve no idea how to entertain any of those peers.”

“Actually baronets, though titled, aren’t exactly peers. They do not have a seat in the House of Lords, for one, and—”

“Aziraphale, spare me all the boring details. I really don’t care.” Crowley regarded him with a look. “Oh, don’t give me that pout.”

“Crowley, if you want me to do this job well, you must allow me the liberties of making quite a few big changes.”

“Oh?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Have I not given you enough liberties? You have free rein over all aspects of the party.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh, I know. I was referring to _you_. If you want to sweep Sir William off his feet, then you must be willing to do your own homework.”

“What on earth could you want me to do?”

“Entertaining a baronet is not a small deal, Crowley! For one thing, he will not be so impressed over having candlelit dinner with a man in shaded lenses!”

Crowley self-consciously tugged on his spectacles, briefly exposing his squinted eyes before pushing them back up his nose.

“Yes, that. Surprised you haven’t brought it up sooner actually. And while I would be willing to grant you many favours, these I cannot do without.”

“How obnoxious.”

“I have defected sense of sight. My eyes are extremely sensitive to light, which is why I cannot go almost anywhere without these.”

“Oh. How sorry I am. I guess that explains why there’s barely any lighting in this room, and not much windows.” Aziraphale wondered, however, why he had not elected to take off his lenses at present. In the dimness of the room he could barely make out the man’s profile.

“Oh no. The window things are for the tax benefits.” Crowley winked. Aziraphale was uncertain whether the statement was actually serious. “But if there is anything else that I am capable of doing to make your job easier, you can tell me.”

“I shall get back to you on that. For now, I must attend to the more pressing matters.”

“Which is?”

“Why, _food_ , of course!” He stood up and smoothed over his pantaloons. “I should like to have a word with your chef.”

* * *

He crossed over the courtyard. Like with the Pulsifers’ compound, Crowley’s house was located in the same property as the mills. Aziraphale went down the steps leading to the servants’ hall and introduced himself to Crowley’s chef. Mr. Randall was a soft-spoken man who did not appear that much older than himself. The man leapt into a fright upon seeing Aziraphale, who then had to utter several apologies.

“As you know, I shall be taking over Miss Anathema’s duties of taking charge of Master Crowley’s parties now. If you would be so kind, I would like to know what dishes are often prepared for a guest of honour in this household.”

“Well,” Mr. Randall squeaked, clutching a wooden spoon tightly to his chest. “Usually it begins with a soup course.”

“Good.”

“Followed by some fish. And then the main course—chicken, usually. Then we move on to desserts.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale laid a pondering hand on his chin. “Oh dear, that will not do indeed.”

Mr. Randall winced. “I am sorry, sir! Is it not to your liking?”

“Mr. Randall. Relax.” Aziraphale demonstrated some gestures of deep breathing, which the chef promptly imitated. “I am sure this isn’t your fault. It is just that such courses will not do for a baronet.”

The chef dropped his spoon. “We are to receive a baronet?! Why hasn’t the master said anything! Indeed, this—”

“Mr. Randall, please—”

“I have never prepared for such—”

“Sir!” Aziraphale snapped. The bumbling chef mercifully shut up. “Do not fret so much and simply do as I say. Do you know of anyone that may acquire game for you?”

“G-game, sir?”

“Yes. If there is land here for hunting, there has to be game. We cannot serve a dinner party without it. Some pheasant, maybe? Or grouse?”

Mr. Randall nodded eagerly. “I’ve a fellow with permission to a gentleman’s hunting grounds, sir.”

“Splendid.” Aziraphale smiled. “You must dispatch my request and I shall compensate him for his troubles. Now, the baronet cannot be expected to have dessert without first having a beef course. You shall make roast beef for that.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Aziraphale, is it really so necessary to be serving that many courses?”

Aziraphale winced at the question he himself has asked many years ago in one of the Angelfords’ parties. “I am afraid so, Mr. Randall. The baronet will be expecting no less.”

“Understood. Will that be all, sir?”

“Actually, on the topic of dessert.”

“We usually serve oranges, sir.”

Aziraphale paused. Oranges were respectable, but he _hated_ them, the dreadful sour things. “There is a charming little French bakery around a block away from Churley street, Mr. Randall. What say you to some crêpes?”

* * *

The day finally arrived. Aziraphale had spent the better part of the past week making sure that everything was in top condition. He rarely encountered Crowley, who spent most of his time down at the mills or in his private study. Once, he was at Aziraphale’s home for a lesson with Mr. Fell, but even then they did not exchange many words. Between his duties at Bentley Mills and his lessons with John Pulsifer, Aziraphale was greatly preoccupied and, if he was being honest, a bit bored as well.

He looked over at the dining hall where the housekeeper had been scrubbing the tabletop with great fervor.

“You have done very well, Mrs. Jennings. I think this will do.”

Mrs. Jennings did not stop her scrubbing. “Are you quite sure, Mr. Aziraphale? This baronet seems like a very important person. I don’t want to hear him complaining of a single speck in this house!”

“Please do not be concerned. This will do very nicely. Thank you.” His smile set her at ease. She dropped the rag and plopped down on a seat in exhaustion.

“Is this to be our life now, sir? Are we to expect the bloody Queen next time?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You may rest now, Mrs. Jennings. I can take it from here.”

“You are very nice to us, sir,” she confessed. “Not very many people are.”

“Surely that is not true?”

“Well, Miss Anathema is nice enough. But usually it’s the guests that are so unpardonably rude! The amount of times I’ve had to put up with that Hastur and his whole lot. Oh, pardon me, sir! I cannot hold my tongue. Please do not tell the master about any of this.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“What secret?” Crowley entered the room. Mrs. Jennings bolted from her seat, curtsying madly.

“M-master Crowley!” She said, trembling.

Crowley turned to face her. “What?”

“I-I must go!” She said and scurried off down the steps to the servants’ hall.

Aziraphale sighed. “Must you be so severe on your servants?”

“I barely said a word to her!” He replied, frowning. “Surely you aren’t serious.”

“They are terrified of you, Crowley. It will help a great deal if you smile at them every once in a while.” He unfolded the piece of cloth left behind by Mrs. Jennings, placing it over the table and smoothing out its creases.

“I do not see how a smile can help them with anything,” Crowley said, buttoning the cuffs on his wrists. “The baronet should be here any moment.”

“Are you to come to dinner dressed like _that?_ ”

Crowley looked down at his clothes. “What is wrong with it?”

“Crowley, you’ve barely made an effort with your cravat!” Aziraphale gestured to the double-knotted white neck cloth around his collar. Without thinking, he reached out to brush a finger over the fabric. “The quality of starching is exquisite. You will ruin it with such a hideous knot! Does your valet not know how to tie them?”

Crowley shrugged. “Dunno. Never had one. I dress myself, and I never had time to learn how to do those fancy knots all those _dandies_ are so fond of.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, allow me.” He stepped forward, undoing the offending knot and setting it to right. He chuckled. “I’ve never had a valet myself. But Gabriel, that is my cousin, would have had my head if I showed up with a knot like this. So I had to learn.”

He became aware of how close they’d gotten. He dared to glance up. Crowley fixated on him an unreadable look. He ducked his chin, concentrating on the twisting fabric between his fingers.

He laughed nervously, feeling that his mouth had gone dry. “Indeed it occurs to me now that I have never done this on anyone else.”

He gave one final tug on the fabric, bringing one flap under and over the knot he’d just made. He smoothed over the final product for a few more strokes than necessary, then stepped back.

“There! Now you look quite dashing.”

“ _Rarffghh_ thanks,” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale darted his gaze back to the table and busied himself on straightening the cloth for no reason, He hurried onto the next important subject. “Now, I understand that Sir William is… of a certain generation.”

“You mean he’s old as cheese, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale drew in a deep breath, gathering all his patience. “Yes. As you so crudely put it, he is _‘old as cheese’_. Which is why I think you must control your tongue around him, for these people are so easily offended.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Are you telling me to behave around an elderly?”

“You would not believe the amount of unpleasant conversation I have heard from their sort. He isn’t like your lot, Crowley.”

“ _My_ lot? What’s my lot like?”

“You know perfectly well what I am talking about! You and the Lady, and-and Hastur and all the others!”

“You did not just put me under the same lot as _Hastur_.”

“Will you just focus for one second!” He snapped. This was no time for one to seek having his ego stroked. “Listen to me. You cannot talk to him about rising prices or how bad the economy is or whatever. And under _no circumstance_ should you talk to him about politics. Save the business talk for later in your letters, where such matters are better articulated. But the dinner absolutely has to be apolitical. Is that clear?”

“But business matters _are_ dinner table topics.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not to these people. Crowley, just trust me.”

“It - It makes no sense! Are we to talk about the weather all night?” Crowley rambled, then sighed. “But if it pleases you then _fine._ ”

One of the footmen chose to enter at that moment. He bowed. “Master Crowley, Mr. Aziraphale. The baronet’s carriage has just arrived.”

* * *

Sir William Leigh was a tall and grumpy gentleman who had spent the majority of his life within his own county. He had no interest in traveling beyond London, and the riskiest investment he had ever made was putting his money into the Consols. How Crowley managed to convince this man of even considering the mere thought of placing his money into the volatile world of manufacturing, Aziraphale had no idea.

Dinner commenced easily enough. Crowley engaged him in pleasantly neutral conversation, with Aziraphale adding a few comments whenever there was a pause in Crowley’s thinking. Aziraphale allowed himself to admit that the event may actually be going smoothly, with Sir William becoming more easygoing the greater the amount of wine he drank.

Of course, as was wont to happen, Aziraphale spoke too soon.

“It is good that you have ventured out from your estate, Sir, in order to visit Milton and see the mills for yourself,” said Crowley.

“Believe me, I am so glad to leave it. Those nasty railway projects have been encroaching on my property, and such a nuisance they are!”

“Construction is very rarely a beautiful process,” admitted Crowley. “But be consoled in the comforts it will bring your people once the railways are finished.”

“Surely you jest, Mr. Crowley! Those bastards have all been so insistent on using my property, saying it was the most ‘convenient’ route. Hah! I’ll be hanged and quartered before I give ‘em any of that!”

Aziraphale saw the set in Crowley’s jaw and knew that everything was about to go abominably.

“Sir William, surely you realize that doing so will cause great distress. They will need to go around your estate instead of through it, and that will result in more expensive construction and travel expenses which will need to be passed onto the passengers.”

“Railways are a flashy, unnecessary, and wholly grotesque display of arrogance.”

“You mean you would rather be riding four hours in a coach to Liverpool than one and three-quarters to go the same distance at lesser expense in a train?” Aziraphale attempted to shoot Crowley a warning look, but the man paid him no mind, fixating the guest with a furious glare. “Railways are a feat of modern invention, Sir. I cannot believe that we stand on the brink of a great period of mechanical revolution and you just refuse to acknowledge it.”

“You overestimate the need for travel, Mr. Crowley. Someone who has no business to attend to has no need for such amenities.”

Crowley bared his teeth. “What I am seeing here is that you do not think that transport is a mass concern. You cannot accept that trains even out the social strata, and instead prefer that people keep to their own private little carriages, bearing the family coats of arms, and have the poor freeze to death traveling for hours on end on the roofs of stagecoaches, is that correct?”

Crowley had a fist on the table by the end of his rushed speech.

“You make me sound so ill saying that, but yes, in a sense.” Sir William continued eating his food whilst Crowley seethed in his anger. “I did not take you to be a firm believer of railways, Mr. Crowley. But even you must see how hideous they are on the landscape, for Darkshire is so full of them now.”

“Indeed I do,” Crowley said through his teeth. “For I _own_ a quarter of the railways in Darkshire, Sir.”

Aziraphale shot up from his seat. The two men snapped their heads to look at him, as if they had forgotten the presence of a third person in the room.

“I need some air!” He said, twisting around and striding out of dining hall.

Fuming, he walked past the drawing room and spotted Anathema out on the balcony, reading a book under the moonlight. He marched over, hands clenching on the railing.

“Good evening, Anathema,” he greeted stiffly.

Anathema closed her book, regarding his expression. “Woah, something certainly happened back there.”

“Crowley does not know how to talk!”

“Hm. Agreed.”

“I asked him not to do _one_ thing, and yet that is exactly what he goes and does!”

He could not believe how completely stubborn Crowley was, how unable he was to swallow his own pride for the sake of an objective he himself had set! Did he not consider any of the consequences at all?

“Can I ask, Aziraphale? Why exactly do you care so much?”

He looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“What does it matter to you if my brother makes a complete fool of himself? It’s free comedy,” she smiled teasingly.

“You and him are so alike, do you know that?”

“The point is, you have done your part. And if Crowley completely blows his, then you shall let him deal with the consequences. But right now, that dinner is still happening and he needs you in there.”

Aziraphale glanced back at the corridor, knowing fully that Anathema was correct. It was improper of him to storm out like that. Whatever problems may have arisen, he will talk to Crowley about them once the dinner was over. For now, they simply had to carry on with it.

“I suppose I should get back, then. Thank you, Anathema.”

He encountered two footmen on the way, speaking in hushed tones.

“Should I close that window now?”

“No, the witchling’s still out there.”

Aziraphale paused as he passed by them. Their heads snapped up to look at him, horrified.

They bowed quickly and scurried off without a single word.

When Aziraphale returned to the dining hall, the tablecloth had been removed and the two were laughing over platters of crêpes.

* * *

Some hours later, long after the baronet had gone, Aziraphale waited for Crowley in his office. The man finally appeared, grin affixed on his face.

Aziraphale was not pleased.

“What’d I tell ya, Aziraphale?” Crowley said loudly, perhaps drunkenly, for he did have too much wine. He tugged at his cravat, loosening the knot in a smooth stroke and threw it across the nearest seat before crashing onto it.

“Crowley, what happened with Sir William?” He inquired stiffly.

“Pfffffft.” Crowley cackled. “He was suuuuuper drunk.”

“So are you, apparently.”

At this, Crowley’s entire demeanour changed. He sat up straight, his previously lax jawline set back in place, and he regarded Aziraphale with an amused and challenging expression.

Aziraphale scolwed. “You have been pretending!”

Crowley stuck out his tongue, as if attempting to air out the aftertaste of drink. “You underestimate my tolerance for alcohol.”

“You deceived him!”

“Had no other choice, did I? You abandoned me in there!”

“I would not have if you had just followed my instructions!” Aziraphale raised his hands in frustration. “Have you any idea how reckless that was? To challenge him with railways?”

“What else could we have talked about?”

“Anything else, Crowley. _Literally_ anything else!” He hated how much Crowley seems to be enjoying this, but he would not be cowed. Did Crowley have absolutely no regard for etiquette whatsoever? What must the baronet think of them now? That was a social problem waiting to be repaired later on.

“Eh, but it would not have been as fun.” Crowley leaned back in his seat, his feet propping up on the armrest. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

“It _what?_ ”

Crowley hummed in response. With those lenses on, Aziraphale cannot be sure whether or not he had fallen asleep. “Got him to put in a few thousand pounds or so. Right frugal bastard that he is.”

“I cannot believe that it worked,” said Aziraphale, incredulous.

“See? I told you there’s no need to worry.” His grin was so smug, Aziraphale almost wanted to slap it off his face.

“ _Luck of the devil,_ ” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said that is wonderful!” Aziraphale put on his most convincing beam. “By the way, I think I just caught some of your footmen refer to Anathema as a ‘witchling’?”

Crowley chuckled. “It’s those nicknames they call us when we aren’t around. Anathema knows all, of course.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. “Then you have one as well?”

“King Cobra.”

“Right.” Aziraphale nodded, still confused.

“Would you like to know yours?”

“I think not—”

“Angel.”

Aziraphale blinked. “What?”

This only increased Crowley’s mirth. “It’s because of the hair.” He made a circling gesture around his own head. “When you stand next to a window, looks like you have a halo.”

He did not know what to make of that. He’s only ever heard his hair described in a mocking way, usually to draw attention to how atrociously light and unkempt it was. “I suppose that is… not unbecoming.”

“You must learn not to take things so seriously, Aziraphale.”

“I see. After I went through all the trouble of setting your dinner and - and getting you bloody _grouse_! Having to see all that food be made and not even consumed and this is the thanks I get?” He crossed his arms, hands gesticulating wildly in the air.

“Ah, so you hate it as much as I do,” Crowley mused.

“I don’t _hate_ it.” He pursed his lips. “There are aspects of it that I find unpleasant.”

Crowley sat up again, bending elbows on his knees as his fingers drew together before his chin. “You are very good at it, though. I’ve not seen a dinner set as fine as that since the Lady’s grand ball two years ago. And I imagine I could not have gotten the baronet all chummy with me had that dinner been a single hair below standard. Why do you not like it?”

He sighed. “I am not ungrateful for this job, Crowley, but sometimes it is difficult for me to have to draw information from unpleasant memories of my childhood.”

“You mean your life in London?”

He nodded. “I was very happy in Helstone,” he began, realizing this was his first time admitting this to anyone. “But when I was twelve, and my mother sent me off to her sister in London, I felt like my parents just gave me away.”

“They probably thought it for the best.”

“Perhaps. But you do not understand such things at that age. All I knew was that since I lived with my cousins, I have never found a place where I truly belonged. Never really knew what I ought to do as well.”

“What _do_ you want to do?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “That is my problem. I’ve been so filled to the brim with rules and lessons and accomplishments that I am left with not a single idea on who I should actually become!”

“Now isn’t that a bit strange? Surely all those lessons you had would have given you some idea on what you would like to do.”

He shook his head. “The Angelfords are not exactly educated to take up professions.”

“Then what on earth did you spend all that time and effort for?”

Aziraphale flushed. “We were trained to attract wealthy spouses.”

A beat of silence.

Then, slowly, Crowley burst into a fit of giggles.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Yes, laugh at it all you want. It is a tiny bit ridiculous.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Crowley tamped down his laughter by clearing his throat. “It’s just. You are an _actual_ Angel.”

Aziraphale ungracefully slammed his head onto his palms. “Dear god.”

Crowley was laughing fully again. “This cannot be a coincidence. Where do you really come from, angel?”

“It is my cousins’ surname, not mine!”

“Oh, indeed. It is much worse than that.” Crowley flashed him a toothy grin. “You are an Angel by _blood_.”

* * *

A few days later, over breakfast with Mr. Fell, Aziraphale received a note from Crowley requesting him to return to Bentley Mills. It was then that he noticed something quite odd.

“Oranges, dear?” Mr. Fell asked, passing him the plate.

“No thank you, father. You ought to eat plenty more.”

Mr. Fell set the plate down, the sound of silverware clanking loudly through the room. And then it occurred to him.

“It is very quiet!”

He stood up and ran to the window looking out over the Lady’s mills. The place was deserted. Not a single sign of bustling activity was to be found.

“Oh. Yes, I believe the Union strike has begun today,” said Mr. Fell over a cup of tea. “Mr. Crowley has been airing some of his concerns.”

Aziraphale’s heart sunk. “He never told me anything about that.”

Mr. Fell set down his cup. “Perhaps, my dear boy, he did not wish to trouble you.”

* * *

Aziraphale marched across the Bentley Mills compound, bypassed several footmen, and barged straight into Crowley’s office. Crowley, seated on his desk and poring over paperwork, looked up upon his arrival.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snatched the seat in front of him. “There are no workers here!”

Crowley resumed his writing. “I noticed.”

“Why did you not tell me of a forthcoming Union strike? Worse so that I had to learn of it from my father!”

“I simply did not think it would concern you.”

“It is not for you to decide what information I am or am not privileged to know, Crowley!”

“Is it not? I am after all your boss.”

“You have taken me on as your _secretary_ , not your floorsweeper!” His fingers dug into the arms of his seat. “I demand to be informed when such major events are happening to the mills.”

Crowley regarded him with a blank stare. Why was he always so calm when Aziraphale was fuming? It was even more infuriating. “I did not know that you were so concerned about the workers.”

“I am friends with some of them. Shadwell, who works for the Lady, is a good friend of mine. His wife is most accommodating to me.”

“Shadwell…” Crowley mused. “He’s that Union representative, is he not? The one heading these strikes! You are friends with that man?”

Aziraphale wanted to rush to defend him, but truthfully he did not see much qualities worth defending, for Shadwell had never been but a touch above civilised towards Aziraphale. But he stood his ground. “Yes. That is why I would like to be informed about these circumstances.”

“Then I’ll try to keep you updated from now on, but I hope you pardon me if I keep some details from you, for I do not know whether a man like Shadwell is trustworthy.” Crowley dropped his pen and leaned back in his seat. “But for now, you have a new assignment.”

Aziraphale sat gaping for a few seconds, shocked at how Crowley had completely glossed over the topic. Still, he had no idea what else to say, and Crowley beat him to the next statement.

“I have received an invitation this morning,” Crowley drawled in a bored tone. “It is here somewhere, but I cannot find it now.”

“Do not mind it, just tell me what it says.”

“An old friend of mine has recently retired from the Navy. Having made his fortune during the war, he is now interested in growing it by venturing into cotton. He has sought me out for advice.”

“And I am guessing that you would like to convince him to invest in Bentley Mills?”

Crowley nodded. “This one won’t be nearly as difficult as the baronet. Captain Elmwood is an agreeable man, and Navy men I can certainly respect a lot more than fops who make money just by sitting all day sniffing snuff.”

“Then when shall we meet with him?” Aziraphale asked, visibly relieved that he did not need to worry about a repeat of the previous fiasco with the baronet.

“Tonight. He has invited us to dine with him at the house he is renting. I could go alone, but I figured you would like to be acquainted with my investors as well, since you might be assisting them after the deal has been struck.”

“Well, this is all a bit out of the blue, but alright. I shall meet with you here later.”

Crowley nodded. Seeing that he had nothing more to say, Aziraphale got up to leave. He paused by the door.

“Crowley, I would like to remind you that I am not your servant.”

“Didn’t think you were.”

“Right. And that I should like us to be a team. This works much better if you are not keeping so much from me.”

“I am sorry you feel that way,” Crowley said, and whether he was sincere or not was yet to be decided. “I will try to be better. For you.”

* * *

They traveled to Captain Elmwood’s house by coach just as the first drops of rain started to patter about. By the time they arrived, there was righteous downpour. Aziraphale brought out his pristine white umbrella and spotted Crowley eyeing it menacingly.

“Did you not bring one with you?”

“I did not think it would start to pour this hard. I usually manage with just my cloak.”

Aziraphale gave him a kind smile. “You need to be more prepared. You know they say that a person caught in the rain without having brought an umbrella is to receive the most unfortunate luck?”

“Who actually believes in those things?”

“There is no harm in doing so. Here, I shall cover you with mine and perhaps you’ll only get half the bad luck you ought to.”

Aziraphale stepped out before him, setting a foot down on a puddle that had begun to rise. Crowley followed soon after. They walked the short distance to the steps leading to the front door. The positioning was a bit awkward, with Crowley being a head taller than him, but Aziraphale clambered to get the umbrella to cover them both sufficiently. By the end of it, his left shoulder was completely drenched.

They reached the reception area and hastily removed their splashed coats. Aziraphale caught a glance of Crowley, his red hair soaked brown and sticking to his forehead. He regretfully had to remove his lenses to wipe off the drops that had clung to the surface. Crowley finally noticed him staring, and looked at Aziraphale with squinting eyes in the sufficiently well-lit room.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale whispered. “You just have the loveliest eyes.”

“Ah, Mr. Anthony J. Crowley! Great to see you!” The host’s voice interrupted. Aziraphale quickly turned to look atop the staircase, while Crowley repositioned the lenses to his face. “And you must be his secretary, I presume?”

The man reached the bottom of the stairs, his face now in full view, a face framed with a familiar mess of brown curls and pair of blue eyes.

“Yes,” Crowley spoke smoothly. “Captain, I would like you to meet—”

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale licked his lips, a flood of memories rushing back as he produced the most face-splitting beam. “Henry! I cannot believe it is you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to everyone who has left kudos! I hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 Please let me know what you think of the story so far :)
> 
> Also, I have been thinking of adding footnotes to some unfamiliar terms in this chapter and the following ones, but also worry if whether they are actually necessary and would distract from the reading experience. I would really appreciate some feedback on this!


	4. Navy Blue

**Chapter Four - Navy Blue**

****

**_Ten years earlier_ ** **_…_ **

_Band music blared loudly from the halls of Almack_ _’s in London, blending with the stomping of feet across the floor as ladies and gentlemen of various households engaged in lively dancing. Among them was Gabriel Angelford, eldest child and heir of the Lady Cecilia. He had just been out into society and was valiantly participating in the night’s events, hoping to catch the eye of any wealthy potential suitor in the room. His siblings, Michael and Uriel, looked on from the side with their noses up in the air, utterly convinced that they would never be caught dead performing a country dance (they eventually would, of course, but they did not know this yet)._

 _Almack_ _’s, after all, permitted only the most prestigious crop, and the Angelfords were regular patrons. Where else would they obtain all their gossip from?_

_Aziraphale pushed past some of the guests, having just come from the piano bench and performed a couple of pieces. He avoided making eye contact with anyone as he successfully obtained an empty seat. He settled down, the leather binding of the Holy Bible crisp between his palms. He opened the book, preparing to read the night away._

_Footsteps approached him. Aziraphale looked up from his book, preparing another excuse to tell Michael about why he wasn_ _’t up to gallivanting with the crowd at the moment (what hasn’t he said before? A sore throat? Tummy bugs?)._

 _He was surprised to see not one of his cousins, but a handsome young man (for he was a_ man _, but could not have been much older than Aziraphale) with deep blue eyes._

_“Good evening. I apologize for intruding, but I must tell you that I thoroughly enjoyed your piece.”_

_Aziraphale blinked several times, trying to recall what was it exactly the man was praising him for, before suddenly remembering he must be referring to the piano playing he had concluded not five minutes ago._ _“Thank you.” Aziraphale found himself mesmerized by the mop of brown curls crowning razor blade cheekbones. He diverted his gaze back to his book before he was caught staring._

 _The young man gestured to the book in Aziraphale_ _’s hands. “You must be the clergyman’s son? My mother likes to gossip with your Aunt,” he said lightly._

_Aziraphale nodded._

_“May I inquire what part of Scripture has taken your interest so deeply?”_

_“The book of Job,” came his automatic answer._

_“Sorry, that was rude. Coming over here without even introducing myself.” Smoothly, he extended a hand. “Henry Elmwood. May I know yours?”_

_“Aziraphale Fell,” he replied shyly, surprised at his determination to keep on talking to him. Wondering what he should do in these situations, Aziraphale attempted to gather his composure. Deftly, he extended his own hand to shake Henry’s._

_A pile of bound papers ripped apart from the leather bound spine of his book and came tumbling down to the floor by Henry_ _’s foot. “Oh,” said he, already bending down. “Allow me to get that—”_

 _“N-no!” Aziraphale all but squeaked, but it was too late. Henry had already picked up the damned thing, his eyes already scrutinizing what must have been the opening cantos of_ ‘Don Juan’.

_Aziraphale turned beet red, sinking further down his seat in mortification._

_Henry laughed, and he thought the sound quite charming._ _“I’m afraid I must review my Scripture. I have forgotten the part where Job was caught having an affair with his mother’s friend and proceeded to join the Russian Army.” He handed the paper pile back to Aziraphale, who quickly tucked it back inside the Bible cover._

_“I know we only just met,” said Aziraphale, wide-eyed in earnest, “but I beg you not to tell a soul.”_

_Henry occupied the seat next to him and pressed a finger to his lips._ _“I will tell no one, Aziraphale.”_

_“Thank you,” he said for the second time that night._

_“I take it Lord Byron is not a welcome guest in your household?”_

_Aziraphale pursed his lips._ _“They are not a fan of his… sexual escapades.”_

 _Henry nodded in understanding._ _“Many people do consider his works a tad precocious.” Aziraphale almost laughed at how big of an understatement that was._

_“Is it really so bad, though?” Aziraphale continued. Henry raised a brow. “I mean, the knowledge of it all. Is prohibition really the best path to morality? Won’t mankind be better off when presented with both a Job and a Byron, and be allowed to choose what they would like to read?”_

_Henry smiled._ _“You are a strange kid, Aziraphale.”_

* * *

“Aziraphale, how you have grown since the last time I saw you! Was it over ten years ago?” Elmwood’s eyes, fixed entirely on Aziraphale, were filled with glee.

“I believe it was. And you are a captain now! Still, I would not have any trouble recognizing you.” Aziraphale considered the lines around his eyes and his slightly tanner skin. The sea had aged him in the most agreeable way, for Elmwood looked sturdier and wiser than during his teenage years.

“Really? I wish I could say the same of you.”

“Why? Do you find me much changed?” Aziraphale replied self-consciously, for he was not aware of any changes he’d had save for a gain in some weight.

“Indeed. You appear to be much happier now than in London.”

Aziraphale ducked his chin. “Do I?” He whispered.

Crowley cleared his throat, reminding them that he was, after all, still present in the room. “I had no idea the two of you are already acquainted,” he said tonelessly.

Aziraphale rushed to explain the nature of their acquaintance. He did not know what urged him to immediately clarify this with Crowley, as if he was expecting some sort of approval from him.

“Pardon my abominable hosting skills. We must proceed to dinner now.” Elmwood clasped his hands. “I have left you standing here with your wet coats for long enough!”

He whirled around and led them into the direction of the dining hall. Crowley stepped before Aziraphale and paused.

“Is something the matter, Crowley?” Aziraphale noted that he seemed to have suddenly grown curt.

His shoulders were tensed. Aziraphale attempted to decipher his stoic expression, but with the obscurity his lenses provided it proved to be a near impossible task. Crowley extended his elbow. “Shall we?”

Aziraphale gave what he hoped was a comforting smile. He looped a hand at the crook of his elbow. “Whenever you are ready.”

* * *

Elmwood and Aziraphale recollected more memories over dinner—silly stories of them running around parties like lunatics, of Elmwood smuggling more prohibited books for Aziraphale to read, and of several jokes making fun of Gabriel. Aziraphale had never had anyone to relax around like this in so long. It was very refreshing to find a familiar face in such an unfamiliar town.

“It was Byron, wasn’t it?” Asked he, recalling their first meeting. “Had a bloody good laugh over that one. Do you still have that copy?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “After you left, Uriel discovered my stash of prohibited literature and immediately told Gabriel. They are all ashes in the fireplace now.” His smile grew melancholic. He’d never had the chance to procure another copy of Byron’s works since.

He glanced over at Crowley, seated across him. He glared at his plate, food untouched.

“Crowley, my dear.” The master’s head snapped up so fast he ought to get a whiplash for it. “Are you alright? Is the food not to your liking?”

It took a couple of seconds for him to respond. “M’fine. Just have a lot on my mind is all.” He looked over at the captain. “How is your partner, er, Camilla, was it? Is she still around?”

Elmwood shook his head. “We’ve broken off our attachment over a year ago. I do not think either of us were ever serious about marriage. Though I don’t think you came all the way here to discuss that.”

“I am sorry,” said Aziraphale. “We did come over here for business, after all.”

Elmwood nodded. “Yes, of course. Crowley, you know how much good faith I have in you, but I’ve recently heard of a strike in your midst, and well, that concerns me.”

“I am working on it,” Crowley said curtly.

Aziraphale, wondering why Crowley was not up to defending himself, frowned. “Crowley is just being modest. Yes, there are concerns that need addressing, but Crowley is far from being careless. He is diligent in upholding the safety standards of his mills and keeps the machinery up to date so the workers don’t injure themselves. Other masters are not nearly as competent.”

Elmwood looked at Crowley. “Is that true, my friend?”

Crowley, much to Aziraphale’s frustration, shrugged. “It’s a far better investment than to have to constantly be replacing and retraining new hands.”

* * *

At the end of dinner, Crowley immediately excused himself by saying that he will have the carriage ready. Aziraphale watched him exit the room. The front door opened and the sound of pattering rain filled the parlour. “Wait!” He called out to remind him to bring Aziraphale’s umbrella, but Crowley ignored it and proceeded to soak himself in the downpour.

“It has been great seeing you again, Aziraphale.” Elmwood stepped up beside him. He was much taller now than Aziraphale last remembered. It was either he did grow taller, or the Navy greatly improved his posture.

“Yes, it has. Thank you for the dinner.” Worry was etched on his mind even as he said placating words. “Listen, about Crowley. I don’t know what has bothered him tonight, but I still hope you put your trust in him.”

“I’ll be honest, I did not expect you to have such a high opinion of him. You two are as different as night and day.”

“I do not,” said Aziraphale truthfully. “He is… difficult to understand. So I am unsure yet about how exactly I regard him. But I do know that, for all his flaws and affectations and that careless facade he puts up when pressed by unpleasant company, out of all the masters in Milton, he is the only one with great potential. It is impossible for you to place your money to a better choice, sir.”

“Sir, your carriage is ready,” the butler said.

“You need not convince me so much. Crowley is an excellent lad of business, and you are much smarter than I am, Aziraphale. If you think he is trustworthy then I must certainly agree.” Elmwood took his hand, brushing his lips to Aziraphale’s knuckles. “I look forward to the next time.”

He clambered into the coach. In front of him, Crowley rested his back to the side of the coach, his dark clothes blending smoothly with the moonlight, wet hair dripping transparent specks onto his coat, blemishing it like stars in the night sky. He stayed silent as the carriage began to move.

“I am sorry we didn’t get to talk much about business affairs tonight, Crowley.”

“We would have been able to, had you not been so busy practically _swooning_ into Elmwood’s arms.”

Aziraphale frowned, not knowing where that comment had come from. “Or we would have if you had been just a little more accommodating to our host’s inquiries! Must you be so petulant?”

“Well, I am sorry for not wanting to fan the flames of young love,” he drawled, setting one foot on the seat next to him. “Figured you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Crowley! You are acting like a child! Henry—Captain Elmwood is an old friend of mine. I should say, my _only_ friend during that time. Why should I not be happy to see him?”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley faced him fully and took off his lenses. His eyes glinted in the darkness and showed an unprecedented amount of vulnerability. “Is he really just an old friend?”

Aziraphale did not know why Crowley felt the need to ask that question, nor why he felt whatever he would answer would weigh in heavily. But in this confined space, with Crowley’s face in full view, he found himself a little more compliant.

“It was a silly crush,” he admitted, face growing hot. “I was young and foolish. He was more mature and he understood my strange habits and brought me books that I liked to read. Over the course of the year, I grew attached to him.”

“What happened?”

“He left.” Aziraphale smiled sadly. After all those years, the betrayal still stung a little. “He joined the Navy, and in the years since he has never bothered to contact me. So, there. He obviously thought nothing of me at all.”

His voice by now had dropped to a whisper. There was a certain intimacy brought about in the way they were now leaning slightly toward each other. And, because Aziraphale did not know when he will ever be granted the next opportunity, he looked into Crowley’s eyes, seeing Crowley’s sympathy in them.

“Oh, do not feel sorry for me, old chap,” said Aziraphale. “I am quite over it now. Like I said, it was a silly crush. A childhood fever dream, if you will.”

And it’s as if a switch had been turned in Crowley. He snapped his lenses back in place, his cool facade returning. He leaned back in his seat once again. Aziraphale’s brows furrowed at the abrupt change in atmosphere.

“Do as you please, then,” Crowley said, resting his head on the padded hood and slipping into a fitful nap.

* * *

Crowley did not give him any tasks over the next few days, save for hosting one dinner with the other masters—an affair that was routine enough that it passed by for Aziraphale without much event. He took this time to put the house back in order, watch over Mr. Fell’s increasingly precarious health, and fulfill his duties at the Pulsifers’ household. He encountered the Lady once, as he passed by the yellow drawing room and heard a series of rushed whispering.

“Ma’am, you really ought not to get up so soon!” Said a woman’s voice.

Aziraphale heard the rustling of the Lady’s robes. He peeked in slightly, seeing her tall, gaunt frame in full view. “Nonsense. I am perfectly in good health.”

“My Lady, as your physician, I should advise you not to stress yourself! You must use this lull in the mills to rest your tired body.”

The Lady fixed her with a scrutinizing look. “Perhaps you may not have any important duties to attend to, little as your life may be, but I have many affairs to settle.” She drew away from the doctor, preparing to leave the room, when the doctor spoke up.

“You cannot keep this up much longer, my Lady. If there are any affairs you need to settle, you and I both know what those affairs should be.”

The Lady scowled. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” Aziraphale scurried off down the hall before the Lady noticed that he had been listening all along.

He attempted to process the overheard conversation. Was the Lady Yvonne in ill health? And why was she so adamant on denying it? As his thoughts started rushing and forming theories, he resolved to empty it from his head as he made his way to the schoolroom. If it was something that the Lady did not want anyone to know, then it might be best if he chose to forget it altogether.

* * *

After his lesson with John, Aziraphale paid another visit to the Shadwells. He and Madame Tracy had a good natured chat, neither of them acknowledging the elephant in the room—the ongoing strike. Shadwell entered the room with another fellow, and Aziraphale and Madame Tracy ceased their conversation when they saw the men’s melancholic faces.

“My wife is terribly ill,” said the man, clutching his hat in between trembling hands. “We have eight children. Shadwell, I do not know how long we can last without work. This is madness! That Crowley’ll never give in. None of ‘em will! We’d all sooner _die_ before that happens!”

“Nonsense!” Shadwell slammed a fist to the wall, his eyes red-rimmed. “I promised you I would take care of you all! Here.” He reached into his pocket, taking out a few coins, and handed it over to the man, who shook his head.

“This isn’t how it’s s’posed to be, Shadwell. You told us they’d give in in a week! And here I am hearing news that the demon Crowley has just imported Irish hands!”

Aziraphale drew back where he stood, hoping to blend into the shadows.

“So let ‘im!” yelled Shadwell. “It is a flawed solution, doomed to blow up in his face. Surely even he sees that!”

“Shadwell, I-I can’t wait that long. My wife’ll be long dead before anything happens at this rate! Might as well include a couple o’ my children. We need a new strategy. I say we storm the compound! Show ‘em that we are not backing down!”

“No!” Shadwell’s voice pierced every wall in the house. “Listen to yourself, Fletcher! This is exactly why they take us for fools! And why none o’ the other strikes have worked in our favor! We must show them that we are nonviolent men. _Thinking_ men. That we are not their subjugates, but their equals.”

Fletcher looked at him, incredulous. “I do not know what you’re on. But there’s a great many of us losin’ our trust in you, Shadwell. Do not say I didn’t warn you.”

Fletcher ran off, leaving a shell shocked Shadwell to stomp his way across the room and grab his bottle of gin from inside one of the cupboards.

“Dear…” Madame Tracy said, stepping closer to him.

“Not one word, woman. I do _not_ want to talk right now.”

Aziraphale chose this moment to take his leave.

* * *

He entered the Bentley Mills compound, still silent as before. Upon entering the gate, he turned to the gatekeeper.

“Winston, Is it true that Master Crowley has hired Irishmen to replace the workers?”

He nodded. “Was only told about it this morning, sir. He said I should be expecting their arrival tomorrow afternoon.”

_Oh, Crowley. What have you done?_

The steps down to the servants’ hall were long and winding. When he reached the landing, he took a few seconds to collect his breath.

He spotted Mr. Randall bent over a chopping board, a look of intense concentration on his face as he sliced some carrots into equidimensional portions.

“Mr. Randall,” he greeted. “How do you do?”

“Mr. Aziraphale!” The chef whirled back, hastily wiping his hands down his apron. “Is there a problem?”

“What do you usually do with the unconsumed food after one of Master Crowley’s parties?”

“Well, let me see.” He put a hand on his chin ponderingly. “The meat we usually make stock with.”

“Turn into stock? _All_ of it?” Aziraphale recalled the platters of uneaten chicken and beef. “What on earth might you need well over _eight gallons_ of stock for?”

Mr. Randall started trembling. “W-well, sir, in all earnest, u-usually the stock just goes rotten.”

“What a pity!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Half of Milton is starving right now and here we are stuffing ourselves with food that is destined to go bad!”

“I am s-sorry, sir. Master Crowley says we may do with the leftovers a-as we please….”

“Oh no, dear Randall. This isn’t on you.” Aziraphale laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “But this cannot do.”

Mr. Randall raised his head approvingly. “I still have the leftovers from last night’s party, sir!”

“Do you? Well, you must package them directly!”

“Sir, surely you are not planning on consuming them all?”

“Oh no, Randall. But I will take them anyways.”

* * *

Later on, his knocks were answered by an agitated Fletcher. Aziraphale gave a polite greeting. He was met by the sound of an infant’s cries.

“Who’re you?” Said Fletcher warily.

“You do not know me, but I am a friend. A friend of Shadwell’s.”

Fletcher scoffed. “I ain’t havin’ any of Shadwell’s folks in here.”

Aziraphale’s smile faltered. “If you would not take my company, then I hope you would take this.” He handed Fletcher the food package from Randall.

“Why’re you giving me this?” Fletcher made no move to reach for the offering. “I don’t need any charity.”

“It is no trouble at all. Please take it, if not for you then for the children.” Aziraphale extended the package again. “I heard your concerns when you went to Shadwell and… I hope your wife recovers well.”

Fletcher took the package finally. “I ain’t thankin’ you for this.”

Aziraphale smiled again. “I did not expect you to.”

* * *

The following day found him on a walk back to Bentley Mills. After a some time of silence from the master, he was determined to have a talk with Crowley regarding the Union strike.

“Aziraphale!”

Turning around, he spotted Captain Elmwood walking in his direction.

“Good morning, sir. Where are you off to?”

“I am to deliver this post,” he replied. “Are you on your way to Bentley Mills?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Do not let me deter you.”

“Nonsense. It’s not that far. I shall walk with you.”

They walked side by side, Aziraphale’s mind wandering to the arrival of Irish workers and what Crowley’s plan might be.

Captain Elmwood cleared his throat, snapping him out of his reverie. “How long have you been staying at Milton?”

“Not very long. Nearly four months, I think. I am here with my father.”

“Then I suppose if I were to ask you where would be a good place to hold a ball, you will be able to help me?”

Aziraphale paused his walk. “You want to hold a ball in Milton?” The very thought was so odd, to hold such an event given the circumstances. “Are you quite sure that is wise, Captain?”

“Oh do not fret your pretty head, Aziraphale. I do not mean to hold it directly,” he said upon deciphering Aziraphale’s odd look. “When this whole issue blows over then I shall want to hold a party. I do not have many acquaintances here aside from you and Crowley.”

“Even so, there are not many balls held here in Milton. I doubt there is any edifice in here suited for it.”

The captain resumed walking, and Aziraphale trailed a little behind. “Then shall we have a look out of town? Make a good trip out of it?”

“You mean you want me to come with you?” Aziraphale thought this may not be a good idea. “I do not know if I can… I mean, surely there are other people better suited to the task, sir.”

“Who is better suited than you are?” Captain Elmwood said seriously. “You will do quite well for it, I believe.”

“You grant me too much credit.” Bentley Mills was coming into view. “But I see you are quite determined. Very well, I shall ask Crowley when he is free. Oh, and Anathema too!”

They stopped before the gates. Captain Elmwood turned to face him. He chuckled nervously. “Do let me know, then. The more the merrier.”

They bade their good byes and Aziraphale entered the courtyard, instantly noting the evidence of activity having returned to the place.

“Good day, Mr. Aziraphale,” greeted Winston. “The Irishmen have arrived early.”

“I see,” he said primly. “And where is Master Crowley?”

“He’s just finished orienting the new workers, sir. I reckon he’s retired to his office.”

Aziraphale was off in an instant. Upon reaching the doors, he again ignored the footman and entered without welcome.

“Crowley, I’ve been meaning to—”

Wordlessly, Crowley stepped away from the window, turning to face Aziraphale without his lenses. His face bare. His eyes filled with dread. His entire countenance was set with intense rigidity.

He held a sheet of parchment in a white-knuckled grip. “ _Get out_.”

Aziraphale, though taken aback, stood his ground. “I will not. Crowley, what is wrong?” He stepped forward, meaning to have a look at the letter. Crowley moved whip fast, chucking it inside the pocket of his waistcoat.

“I see you went here with Elmwood,” he said flatly. “Saw you through the window.”

“You are attempting to divert me from the main issue.” Without his lenses, Crowley read to him like Scripture. There were a great many ways he showed feeling with his eyes—feelings which could differ so greatly from the way he chose to hold himself. Perhaps that was the real reason he liked to wear those things. “What was in that letter?”

“None of your concern.” At Aziraphale’s prodding look, he continued. “I am serious. It’s nothing to do with you. I will handle it.”

Aziraphale stepped forward slowly, as if afraid that Crowley might attempt an escape. He placed a gentle hand on Crowley’s elbow, guiding him to a seat. Crowley followed without complaint.

Aziraphale seated himself on the couch. “I know you are not inclined to share everything with me, but if it has devastated you so, I might hope you would confide with me. As a friend.”

Crowley looked away. To his credit, the overbearing worry previously etched on his face seemed to have alleviated a bit. “Don’t worry about it. You came here to talk to me about something?”

Aziraphale straightened in his seat. He will not let anger get in his way this time. “Yes. The Irishmen. Are you sure this is such a good idea? The workers are in a tight spot as it is. They will not be happy if— _when_ they hear about this.”

Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I don’t know. But they have left me with no choice. There are still pending orders and I am already way behind schedule.”

“Is it really so impossible for you to just give in to their demands? A vast majority of these people are barely making enough to feed their children.”

Crowley appeared agitated. “If I could, then would I not have done so already? Did you think I wanted for this to happen?”

Aziraphale looked down at his hands. “I apologize. I do not know how these things work. But if the prices of cotton have really risen in the past two years, then I do not see how the wages would not have—”

“If the prices have risen, mostly likely our expenses have as well.” Crowley sighed. “Honestly, I would like nothing more than to fix this. I really, really do. But this is all so _new._ ”

“Oh yes, you have recently made purchase of some new machinery—”

“Not the machines, angel. This. All of it! You’re an intelligent fellow. When has mankind ever been on such a brink of technological innovation, hm? Not ten years ago destitute people had houses with bare walls and floors, but today they can possess little sentimental trinkets thanks to mass production!”

Aziraphale found the look on Crowley’s face as he said this quite charming. He had never seen any topic that excited Crowley in such a way. And— _wait, what did he just call him?_

“Uh, did you just call me ‘angel’?”

“ _Slipofthetongue_ ,” Crowley replied quickly. He went on as if nothing unusual had happened.

“It’s all so new and-and delicate. Both amazing and terrifying.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Our actions have benefits, but also unintended consequences. Suddenly money isn’t restricted to the landed gentry anymore. Lower classes can gain fortune now. Then you also have idiots like Dagon turning into masters thinking they can play into the flawed system.”

And yet it was Crowley who bore the brunt of the anger toward the masters. A great injustice.

“Well, enough about all that.” Crowley put his shaded lenses back on. And just like that he was back to his aloof self again. “Why was Elmwood with you on your way here?”

Aziraphale was stunned by the sudden turn of topic. “We met each other on the way. We only talked for a bit.”

“It is none of my business, but I feel I should warn you about him. As a friend.”

“I think I am perfectly capable of discerning people on my own, Crowley.”

Crowley laid his chin on his hand. “You last met him when you were kids, Aziraphale. He is not a serious man and I am merely warning you against spending so much time with him.”

Aziraphale scoffed, horrified at the implication. “Do you think that I am the kind of person to throw themself at the first potential admirer they see?”

“I am not making any insinuations on your character! Look. In the course of our acquaintance, I have met three of his ex-lovers. All of them madly in love. All of them drawn in by him, and all of them heartbroken by the end of it.”

“Is he really capable of such a thing?” Aziraphale had trouble reconciling this account with what he knew of Captain Elmwood’s character. “I doubt he would be so cruel.”

“Ask Anathema. She knows him as well. He has no plans of settling down. For you to be captivated by him would be detrimental, Aziraphale.”

“I thank you for your concern,” said Aziraphale hotly. “But I am quite capable of handling myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am not doubting your ability—”

“Then I beg you not to make such assumptions again!” Aziraphale snapped. “And I would appreciate it if you would leave me to make my own judgments on Captain Elmwood’s character. Besides, I doubt you would even know anything about such romantic notions.”

“What do you mean by that?” Crowley asked, offended.

“You have never felt for yourself such an attraction, at least not to my knowledge. I could hardly consider you an expert.”

Crowley opened and closed his mouth, making a garble of incomprehensible sounds. “You are an idiot,” he finally managed.

Aziraphale stood up to leave. “If you are quite done! I will not sit here and listen to you insult me. I will spend as much time with Captain Elmwood as I see fit!”

“Great! Go put that Angelford training to use!”

Aziraphale slammed the door. 


	5. Tensions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ecstatic over the feedback coming from fellow North and South lovers! Thank you so much for reading this little thing. And if by any chance you have not heard of North and South before, I seriously recommend watching the mini-series starring the lovely Richard Armitage as broody millowner Mr. John Thornton and Daniela Denby-Ashe as the feisty intelligent Margaret Hale, or even read the original novel by Elizabeth Gaskell. It tackles a lot of complicated themes that were considered quite progressive for her time. It's quickly become one of my favorite works of literature.

**Chapter Five - Tensions**

_Dear Lord Gabriel,_

_I am glad to hear of your safe arrival at Greece, though I am sorry that the heat bothers you so. A great many things have occurred in Milton since I last wrote to you. It is so strange to wake up in the mornings to full silence, for without the hustle and bustle of activity from workers Milton seems like it is a dying creature. The workers have gone on strike and life here is at a standstill. Tensions are high between workers and masters, with neither side showing signs of relenting._

_On the other hand, I find myself helping out a friend with planning a ball. Do you perhaps remember Henry Elmwood from our childhood? He used to attend Almack’s society parties with us. Well, you will not believe it, but I have encountered him here at Milton. He is now a retired Navy captain and is renting a place here. He wishes to hold a ball and although I am happy to be helping, I also find that it is difficult to be thinking of such festivities in the middle of these events. How could one dance merrily and eat joyfully while our neighbors are without food and without work?_

_I have often wondered how to go about solving these issues. I have asked Crowley, that is one of the masters and whom I am working for as a secretary, and he says these things are unfortunately not so easy to fix. Never before have I dealt with such conflicted feelings._

_Send my regards again to my cousins and your Lord Wesleyton. May this letter find you safely in Italy or wherever it is that you are._

_Yours kindly,_

_Aziraphale Fell_

“That sounds great, Aziraphale! Shall we leave tomorrow?” Anathema bounced in her seat. “Newton, you will be coming along, of course.

“Sounds like a fun little trip,” replied Newton seated beside her.

Aziraphale gave them a grateful smile. “Newton, will it be alright if we take your carriage? We shall all fit nicely in there.”

“It is not a problem. I think we can spare one carriage for a day’s trip.”

Crowley walked into the room, smoothing down his collar and waistcoat. He appeared to just be on the way out when he encountered the small party assembled in the drawing room of his house. He raised an eyebrow. “What’re you all doing here? And what’s this trip you are talking about behind my back?”

“Set your mind at ease, dear brother. Aziraphale, Newton, and I were talking about setting off to Edensgate’s assembly rooms tomorrow. It looks to be a good place to hold a ball for the people of Milton.”

“But it is not even _in_ Milton. Is the party really so grand that it warrants such a distant venue?”

“You should come with us too,” said Anathema, pointedly ignoring his inquiry.

“I have several appointments for tomorrow,” replied Crowley.

“Oh, I thought of asking him to come along, but I figured your brother will be very busy with training the Irish workers,” said Aziraphale. Determined to do well in his job, he now had a fairly accurate timetable of Crowley’s schedule for the next couple of days. He nodded at Crowley, hoping the anger of their last argument had been forgotten. He did not like to hold such grudges.

“Then I suppose it is just the four of us,” said Newton. “I hope Captain Elmwood will be amenable to us being in a bit of a tight fit in our carriage.”

Crowley turned back. “Since you insist so firmly on my going, then I shall come along. Angel, you and I will take the curricle.” And with one last sweeping look about the room, he walked out.

Newton and Anathema’s heads whipped towards Aziraphale, Newton mouthing _‘angel?’_ while Anathema fixed him with an all-knowing look.

Aziraphale looked at the door through which the master had just exited, stunned. “Crowley sure is in an odd mood today.”

* * *

The party met up in front of the Bentley Mills compound the next day. Aziraphale and Anathema stood by as the gates opened to receive the Pulsifers’ stately coach. The door opened and out stepped Newton and Captain Elmwood. Anathema, unable to contain her excitement, tackled Newton straight into a hug.

Captain Elmwood chuckled at the two, stepping towards Aziraphale. “Oh, to be young and in love.”

“Sounds dreadful, I may say,” said Aziraphale in pure jest, smiling back.

They were approached by the hooves of a pair of horses. Aziraphale looked on as Crowley pulled the reins, the horses coming to a halt. His red hair set aflame by the sunlight, Crowley released the reins and jumped off the curricle in one smooth movement.

“Shall we get on?” He said in a bored tone.

“I was not aware that you can drive, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “That is one accomplishment that we were never taught.”

Crowley rested a hand on the back of one of the horses. “Doth my ears deceive me, angel? Or are you finally admitting to a skill I can do better than you?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, stepping closer to the curricle.

Captain Elmwood stopped him. “Are you to ride with him?”

Aziraphale nodded. “It frees up quite a bit of space in the coach with only three people there. Or would you like for us to switch places?”

The captain raised his hands in a defensive gesture, vigorously shaking his head. “Oh no, my friend. I do not envy you at all.” He turned back to the coach, getting in after Anathema.

Aziraphale whipped back to look at Crowley. “Now, what could he possibly mean by that?”

A devilish smirk played on Crowley’s lips. “You ask too many questions.” He extended a hand at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale stared at it. “W-what am I to do with that?”

“You have never been on a curricle before?”

“I-well… It is a very leisurely vehicle. The Angelfords never took me on their leisurely rides.”

“The Angelfords are a bunch of schmucks. I’ll show you how fun it is.” He gestured with his hand once again. “I’ll help you up.”

Aziraphale placed a hand on his as he stepped one foot on the carriage. He sprung on his knees, and Crowley’s ungloved hand tightened around his. With some effort, he hoisted himself to the carriage’s level, but missed his step. His foot dropped back to the ground.

“You are meant to shift your weight.”

“I am trying!”

“Try again. Put more of your weight on me.” Aziraphale jumped off again. Crowley’s other hand settled on his hip, guiding him into the vehicle. Aziraphale settled in his seat, marveling at how high up he was from the ground and how wonderfully open the ride was when compared to a coach.

“I did it!” He cheered, laughing. “It is quite marvelous up here.”

“Good job, angel. But, uh, I do need my hand back.”

Aziraphale only then realized that he still had a firm grip on Crowley’s hand and dropped it quickly. “Sorry, dear.”

Crowley walked to the other side, jumping on smoothly without aid. Aziraphale was almost embarrassed by the way he had to clamber onto his own seat.

They led the way, the horses starting a steady trot beyond the gates. Aziraphale smiled at the wind pressing on his face. Riding in a coach had been a tad bit claustrophobic. This felt much more free.

“Ready to have fun?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale turned to him, confused. He was already having the time of his life.

They turned onto a highway, the road clearing out into a straight path that converged to a point near the horizon. Another devilish grin appeared on Crowley’s face. He gave the reins a firm tug and push, and the horses sprinted with what seemed like reckless abandon.

“C-Crowley! Heavens!” Aziraphale gripped his seat, leaning so far back he appeared to be becoming one with the cushions. “Is not this just a tad too fast?”

Crowley gave the reins another tug. He shouted against the tapping of hooves and the blowing of the breeze. “Not nearly, angel! If you want fast, we should have taken the phaeton!”

“No, I will _not_ take the bloody phaeton, thank you very much!” They were going full speed now, the horses galloping down the narrow road. A group of people appeared straight ahead, and Aziraphale shut his eyes tight. “Watch out for the pedestrians!”

With a narrowly dodged maneuver, the carriage clipped by the group just so. Aziraphale, not knowing how else to remain in his seat, gripped the front board of the carriage with both hands. “They ought to know better than to risk crossing this street!” Crowley remarking. Clearly he was having way too much fun with this.

Aziraphale tightened his hold, trying to keep dizziness at bay. “Now I know what Captain Elmwood was speaking of when he said he does not envy me. You drive as a demon would!”

“A demon, eh?” He gave a gentle tug and the horses slowed down to a trot. “Surprisingly, I’ve never heard that one before.”

A relieved Aziraphale settled back in his seat. Catching his breath, he began to laugh. He laughed until his cheeks grew stiff and his stomach clenched. Crowley, confused at first, slowly joined in.

They arrived at their destination in a half hour. The Edensgate assembly rooms were simple, but spacious. Aziraphale can already imagine how the place was to be arranged for a most engaging party. Anathema marveled at the wide marble columns and the strange paintings on the walls.

Aziraphale took this moment to approach Newton, talking softly.

“I see you and Miss Anathema are getting on very well.”

Newton blushed. “Believe me, Aziraphale, no one is as shocked about this as I am.”

“You look well together. I am very happy for you.” Aziraphale gave his arm a friendly squeeze.

Newton looked around, and seeing that all the others were occupied with inspecting the halls, dropped his voice to a whisper. “I am thinking… That is, I’m hoping if she is amenable… Of forwarding our um, attachment.”

Aziraphale gasped. “You mean to propose to her!”

“Keep your voice down!” Newton steered him further away from the rest of the group. “Yes. Soon. Hopefully she says yes.”

“I do not see why she would not.” Aziraphale clapped his hands in glee. “Oh, Newton, I am ever so happy for you both!”

“How marvelous these floors are!” Said Elmwood, gliding a foot across the wood. “They’ll ring soundly during a country dance. Do you not agree, Crowley?”

Crowley, who stood beside the captain with hands clasped behind his back, did not look the least bit impressed. “I would not know, Elmwood. I do not like to dance.”

“Ah, I see you are still your same old self. I beg you not to be so serious during these events, my friend. How greatly you are missing out!” As Aziraphale and Newton rejoined the group, Elmwood captured Aziraphale’s attention directly. “I am quite looking forward to it now. Aziraphale, you must promise me the first dance, if you are not yet taken.”

Aziraphale stared at him, stunned. He had never been asked to open a dance before. Indeed, he had never been considered important enough for such a task. “Who, me?”

Crowley sneered. “He said ‘Aziraphale’, you dolt.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale flushed. Captain Elmwood looked at him expectantly. “Well, of course. I would love to.”

“Excellent! Then, I shall settle this.” With a slight flourish and spring in his step, the captain whirled around and strode out of the room.

* * *

For some reason, Crowley had lost all the gleeful talkativeness that he had brought with him on the ride back to Milton. Aziraphale attempted to engage him in conversation, but he gave nothing but clipped answers. He racked his brains for anything he might have done to upset the man.

He tried to derail Crowley with happy news. “Newton and Anathema sure are happy together, are they not?”

Crowley hummed. “I know why _he_ is. Can’t say the same for my sister. Always been odd, that one.”

Aziraphale chose to ignore this lukewarm comment. “I believe he has plans to propose to her soon! Can you believe it?”

Crowley gave the horses a mean whip, jolting the carriage to greater speed.

“A-are you not happy for them?”

“Sure.”

Aziraphale frowned, realizing what was really going on here. “You do not like Newton! You think he is not good enough for her!”

“I did not say that!” Crowley defended.

“I will have you know that Newton has many redeeming qualities that others do not have. And who are you to get in the way of true love?”

“If indeed it is true love.”

“It most certainly is!”

“You cannot know that, Aziraphale. You cannot just assume the best in everybody.” If Crowley didn’t have his lenses on, Aziraphale could have sworn he was rolling his eyes. “Many people are not so serious. And you do realize a great many marriages are not borne out of true love.”

Aziraphale knew this quite well. “Which is precisely why it is such a novelty to see when it does. I dare say you will change your mind if you ever fall in love yourself, Crowley.”

“I doubt it.”

* * *

It was dark by the time that Crowley dropped him off at his home. He was home for only a couple of hours when a visitor knocked on the front door. When he opened it, he was surprised to see Captain Elmwood, looking a bit breathless.

“Captain! I did not know you were coming.” Aziraphale was still attempting to figure out why he was here when he realized he ought to invite him in. “Do come in, sir. It is very cold out. Was there anything you’ve forgotten to tell me a while ago?”

“No, Aziraphale,” answered Elmwood loudly. “But there is an important matter I should like to talk to you about.”

Aziraphale brought him tea into the drawing room. “Our housekeeper is out at the moment. Please have a seat, Captain.”

Elmwood cleared his throat. “I-That is very kind of you, but I do not think this is something I can do sitting down.”

“Surely that is not true. You need not be so formal with me.” He gave a comforting smile. “We are old friends after all.” Aziraphale was just about to take his own seat when Elmwood stepped to him, grasping both his hands. He reeled back in shock, but the grasp held firm.

“Old friends, indeed. But therein lies the problem,” the captain whispered. “And as precisely what you have said, I wish to diminish any formality between us at all.”

“Sir, where has all this come from?” Aziraphale gently tugged his hands away from the grasp, holding them down awkwardly by his sides. He inspected the captain’s eyes, trying to look for traces of drunkenness. Seeing none, he grimaced, steeling himself for the ensuing awkward conversation. “Because I beg you… not to continue the thought.”

Elmwood’s gaze, brimming with hope, grew gradually downcast. “Oh.”

Aziraphale could not look him in the eye. “That is, I like you so very much, Cap—Henry.”

“And that is all I need from you, Aziraphale,” he pleaded. “I do not need you to love me, only to let me take care of you. And I mean to. With all sincerity, I will do anything to make you happy.”

“Henry.” He shook his head. “Old chap, you do not think you deserve such happiness as well? You deserve someone who is beyond in love with you. Besides, I seem to recall you saying that you were not considering marriage at all?”

“I didn’t.” He closed his eyes, turning around to look out at the window. “And I thought I didn’t. But Aziraphale, seeing you again. It reminded me of what I left behind, all those years ago. Were you not enamoured with me then? If you could just look at me a fraction of that way again, I will be a very happy man.”

Aziraphale considered this. He did so love Henry back then, and apparently had not been so skilled at hiding it. Was this not what he ought to do? Elmwood was a respectable man who was willing to give him a good life and whom his family relations might actually endure. Above all, he _enjoyed_ his company. Henry Elmwood, his dear old friend, who listened to his rants and brought him books and talked to him all those years ago when no one else would. Henry Elmwood, whom he so loved.

Why now, when presented with everything he could ever want, was he pent up with such sadness?

“I see.” Elmwood shuddered, looking back at him. “That I am too late.”

“Ten years is indeed a long time, Henry.”

The captain shook his head glumly. “Not by ten years. I reckon if a year ago I would have stood a better chance. That wounds me so, Aziraphale. I wish I had met you before… Well, before your affections were engaged by someone else.”

“I d…” Aziraphale was about to retort, then stopped. Oh.

_Oh._

“This is quite a blow for me.” Elmwood chuckled sadly. “But… But if he makes you happy, then you shall have my full support.”

“I need to sit down.” And he did. His face sunk into his hands, noting the warmth spread out over his cheeks.

“Are you alright?”

“This is too much information to process over the course of twenty minutes,” he muttered between his palms. His thoughts were a whirlwind, a million things hitting him at once and through it all, the one prevalent thing was an ache for the presence of one who was currently not even in the room.

“I think it is best if I leave now.” Elmwood bowed low.

“I don’t wish for us to grow distant,” Aziraphale said truthfully. “Please say we are still friends.”

“Of course we are.”

“Then, for the sake of our friendship, I think it best if you give your first dance to someone else.”

Elmwood took a deep breath and made a weaker form of his usual smile. “Ah. I understand.”

With another deep bow, he was off.

* * *

“You should eat more fruits, father.” Aziraphale passed him the plate over breakfast the next day. “I fear the bad air in Milton has been affecting your health.”

“You worry too much,” replied Mr. Fell, accepting the food nonetheless and taking a bite. “I am in perfect condition.”

Aziraphale took a bite of toast. “How are your lessons?”

“Quite alright. My pupils are of sound mind, but I have also been corresponding with Sir Beel, my old acquaintance.”

“Have you now?”

“They have invited me over to visit. And I think I would like to be surrounded by my academic friends again.”

“Why don’t you? I think it would do you well to go to Oxford.”

“Do you think I should? Lately I have been worried that the Oxford crowd might not welcome an old dissenter like me.”

Aziraphale clutched his father’s arm. “Do not be ridiculous. Oxford is a fool if they are to shun out a brave soul such as yours.”

“Then perhaps I shall go. Now that Mr. Crowley has been visiting me less frequently, I find myself wanting of more intelligent conversation.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Well then, I apologize for not being a good enough substitute to Crowley’s intellect,” he says in mock hurt. “So much so that you feel you must escape out of town!”

“Now, my son, you know no one is quite as wonderful as you,” Mr. Fell said. “Though I might say that Mr. Crowley is a close second.”

“Careful, father. I can almost think that you want for _him_ to be your son.”

“Wouldn’t that be a dream?” Mr. Fell chuckled and resumed eating. “On that note, will you tell him to return my Plato the next time you see him?”

“I was thinking of going down there today. I will keep it in mind.”

* * *

The street leading down to Bentley Mills was dreadfully silent. This striked Aziraphale as odd, for since the arrival of the Irish the mills had been quite noisy again. Several other masters have also employed foreigners into their mills and were either operating now or were in the process of waiting for their arrival.

An uneasy feeling filled his chest as he marched onward. He could not shake off the sensation that he was being observed. He glanced sideways at the rows of clustered housing. Pairs of eyes peered at him from the windows, only to be shuttered at the last moment when Aziraphale took note of them.

The crumbling dirt beneath his feet was the only sound he can hear. At last, he reached the gates. The gatekeeper peered through the metal slats, inspecting him with wild, wary eyes.

“Mr. Aziraphale, it is only you!” He hastened to unlock the gate. “Get in, quickly!”

The gates slammed shut behind him as soon as he stepped inside. “Have you any idea about the odd behavior from the townsfolk outside?”

The guard hung his head. “Things have not been well since the Irish came, sir. The people aren’t happy.”

“Oh, dear. It sounds as if things are about to go so dreadfully pear-shaped. Is Crowley in?”

“I believe he is with the Irish, sir. Probably reassuring them.”

“Then I might just wait for him in the house. Thank you.”

The anteroom of Crowley’s household was an odd thing. In contrast to Lady Yvonne’s, the floors and walls were made of the same black marble and it was entirely devoid of furniture. One might make the assumption that the owner did not wish to provide hospitality, though he suspected the real reason was more to do with Crowley’s preference to more minimal furnishings, in stark retaliation to what was so greatly the trend among the wealthy. It let Aziraphale breathe. He hated overstuffed rooms of the wealthy. If one must fill up their houses, why would they not fill them up with items that they actually loved?

He meant to move forward to the main drawing room, but his attention was caught by a smaller archway off to the side. He had only ever looked at this passage during the night time or on days when the weather was in full gloom. But at the moment, rays of sunlight angled down from above, streaming past the entryway and down on the floor a few inches from his feet.

He paused, checking to see that no one was around to see him. It would probably be a while before Crowley was ready to meet with him. He scurried off to the side entrance.

The brightness of the room stunned him. Squinting against the light, he gazed up to see a skylight ceiling. He was enveloped in a sea of lush green. Before him stood a garden, with rows and rows of plants, their leaves hanging in the glean of sunlight. A smattering of colour provided by an array of flowers intensified the scene. He could not count how many varieties were there, they seemed to extend endlessly. Aziraphale had not seen anything so beautiful since he was last in Helstone.

“It is jarring to see someone here that isn’t shouting bloody murder for once.” Aziraphale whipped back around at the voice to find Anathema leaning against the archway.

“Why would I be shouting?”

“Why would you indeed? Do be sure to ask my brother that exact question, please.”

“This is Crowley’s garden?” He rephrased. “No, I mean, of course the garden is Crowley’s property, but, this is _his_ doing? It’s breathtaking.”

“For all the time he has spent holed up and yelling in here? Yeah, those plants know better than to grow anything less than perfectly.” She scoffed.

It should have been difficult, but he found that he could picture Crowley in this room with amazing clarity. He saw Crowley in all these plants. Saw him pattering about, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and a look of great concentration on his face as he sprayed them with water or pulled out their weeds. He saw the flowers blooming under long, bony fingers and saw all his labour bearing fruit to a creation to rival Eden itself. The sight filled him with such pride that he was not certain of being worthy of feeling.

“Shall we go have tea?” Anathema said, and Aziraphale bade a silent farewell to the plants he oddly felt were listening to him.

When they reached the drawing room, Aziraphale noticed that the windows have been barricaded. “Anathema, are you expecting… company today?”

Anathema followed his gaze to the windows. “Oh! Crowley thinks that the workers might be barging in today.”

“What—you mean like a riot?”

“Anathema, what are you doing? I told you to stay upstairs.” Crowley’s voice rumbled through the room, echoing off the walls.

There was no trace of Crowley’s usual teasing manner. His brows were deep set and as he noticed Aziraphale’s presence, his expression turned immediately sour, bordering on pure rage.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here? I did not ask for you to come here today!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Please, Crowley. We are way past pretending that I am unable to come and go into this compound as I please.”

“He has a point,” said Anathema.

“I am not done with you!” Crowley warned her. He stepped close to Aziraphale and seized his wrists. “You could not have come at a more inopportune moment.”

Aziraphale reeled back at his sudden closeness, suddenly remembering this was his first time seeing Crowley since he realized he had been harbouring, ehem, _feelings_ , and for whatever other reason that he should have been feeling _fear_ at that moment, all he could think of was how Crowley looked so devastatingly handsome it was almost painful.

“I-I have come for my father’s… _Plato_.” His last word came out a mere squeak.

Crowley looked to be about to say something when they were interrupted by a loud _‘bang!’_ coming from outside, followed by the roar of a mass of angry voices. Winston came rushing into the room.

“Master Crowley, they have come! The gates are breached!”

Crowley released Aziraphale’s wrists, turning over to the barricaded windows and peering out at a narrow space between the boards. “Call the police and go quickly to the mills. Send the men over. I’ve locked the workers for their safety. Make sure the doors stay locked.” Winston nodded and set off at once.

In two strides, Crowley was over to Anathema. “You. Upstairs. _Now!_ ”

Anathema implored him silently, a fiery stance set in her eyes, but he did not relent. With stomps of angry feet, she turned around and disappeared up the staircase.

Crowley paced about the room. “You should go with her,” he said without looking at Aziraphale. “You will be safer there.”

“And what will you do? How will you handle the situation?”

“The police will hopefully show them reason.”

Aziraphale winced. If Shadwell’s accounts were anything to go by, he believed this did not bode well for everyone involved.

“Reason!” Aziraphale felt the traces of anger slipping past his veins. “If you call the firing of gunshots, the beating of sticks and risk of mortal injury ‘reason’! Crowley, you are better than this!”

Crowley snapped his head to face him. He looked _terrified._

“What will you have me do then?” He asked desperately. “What will you do in my place?”

“I had hoped that you will not resort to harming them!”

“I would not have if there wasn’t any risk of them harming you and Anathema!” He snapped. “There is nothing, Aziraphale, _nothing_ that is worth risking that.”

Aziraphale stopped.

He desperately wanted to hug him.

“Anthony Crowley, you are a master! It is not like you to be so defeated.” He put on a brave face, hoping to transfer some confidence to him. He was uncertain about what to do, but he stepped close, as if magnetized by some unseen force. Crowley fixed him with a steady, yet panicked gaze. He put a hand on Crowley’s arm, relieved to see a slight loosening in his shoulders. “I believe you capable of setting them to reason. Make them listen to you.”

Crowley placed his own hand on top of his, clenching, as if drawing out the courage that Aziraphale was giving him. “Right, then. But under no circumstances are you to leave this room.”

Crowley made his way to the front door, his steady hands twisting the handles. The next few moments passed by in one smooth motion.

The doors opened, and Aziraphale saw Crowley’s retreating frame among a sea of angry faces. Upon Crowley’s appearance, the furious chants increased in volume. Fear jumped at his chest, now constricted. He ran.

“Crowley, wait!—”

The doors slammed shut before him.

With steadily rising panic, he ran to the door, pulling it slightly open. From his vantage point, up several steps from the courtyard, he saw Crowley standing on the porch near the crowd. A sea of faces, close to a hundred in all, peered up at him murderously. Among them stood Fletcher, whose head stood out briefly before he stooped down as if he had dropped something, and came back up with a block of stone in his hand.

Aziraphale heaved the doors apart and sprinted. In the heat of the moment, Crowley whipped around to look at him. _Nononono—don_ _’t look at me! Look at them!_

“I told you to stay inside!”

Aziraphale first grabbed a hold of his sleeve, and with all the force he could gather he shoved into Crowley, throwing all his body weight to it. They tumbled to the ground as the stone soared through the air and crashed into the wall behind the space where Crowley’s head had just been.

Aziraphale landed on his side, his shoulder having broken his fall. “Crowley, were you hurt?”

His lenses had clattered to the ground ahead of them, and Crowley could only regard him with a dazed look.

The crowd lulled into instant silence.

Satisfied that Crowley appeared to be unmarred, Aziraphale stood. All eyes were on him as he walked cautiously down the stairs. He stopped just before them all, on equal ground.

“Please do not forget yourselves!” He started. He scanned the faces in the crowd. “Fletcher!”

The crowd parted for him, revealing the attacker. “It wasn’t you we were tryina get at, sir!”

“I understand how deeply this strike has damaged you,” Aziraphale addressed him. “I really do, Fletcher. But if you go through with this riot, think how much more deeply you will be affected by the masters’ retaliation! You will never see eye to eye so long as either side resorts to violence!”

“I ain’t afraid of him!” Fletcher pointed a finger in Crowley’s general direction. “Not afraid of any of ‘em! Let ‘em come at me!”

A round of approval came from the crowd.

Aziraphale shook his head, his heartbeat deafening him. “You may be strong enough, but your kids aren’t. Your _wife_ isn’t.”

“Don’t try to twist all this! It is because of them that I’m doing this in the first place!”

“Please, Fletcher! For our sake, the police will be coming soon and I do not want to see anyone hurt!” He looked deep into Fletcher’s eyes, hoping that his sincerity would be seen.

A few more beats of silence. Aziraphale implored him silently with a desperation unfounded at any moment before in his life. Then, Fletcher gave a curt nod.

“For the record, I ain’t doin’ this for him!” He shot a glare at Crowley, then turned back to Aziraphale. “Because unlike them demons, I know how to repay debts when given. So for _you_ , sir, I will disperse the crowd. For now. So we are even.”

Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath, careful not to lose his confidence. “Then you must do so at once.”

Fletcher raised a hand. The crowd erupted into angry muttering, but slowly they trickled out of the compound after him.

When the last person had left, a wave of exhaustion raked through him. Aziraphale heaved a sigh of relief, feeling as if his knees would give way beneath him.

A pair of hands settled on his shoulders to steady him. He subconsciously leaned back onto Crowley’s sturdy chest.

“Angel,” Crowley said breathlessly into his ear. “I believe you’ve performed a miracle.”

* * *

Once things had settled down, they retreated to Crowley’s office. Crowley flung himself face down onto the long sofa as Aziraphale took the seat before him in what was now an arrangement that felt greatly familiar to them both.

Aziraphale looked about the room, trying to place a sense of oddity in it. “Did you do something different…” And then he _noticed._

The bookcases were stocked fully with books.

“Crowley, the bookcases!” Aziraphale gaped at him. “Did you do this for _me_?”

Crowley decidedly did not meet his gaze. “Please. Just thought I would redecorate. But don’t worry, angel. To me you’re still special.”

Aziraphale’s chest clenched a bit. Perhaps Crowley did not realize what such a statement did to him.

He had never thought of Crowley, widely-feared Master of Bentley Mills, as anything more powerful than himself up until that moment, when he knew how much he hung onto Crowley’s every word, and how much potential Crowley had to make or ruin him.

Aziraphale mentally shook himself of those thoughts and steered them back to what they ought to be talking about. “What happened today—”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you for that, by the way. I have no idea what you did to reason with Fletcher, but that was amazing.”

“It cannot happen again, Crowley.”

“I don’t want it to!”

“Calm down, dear. Please.” Crowley took a deep breath and he continued. “You want to know how I reasoned with Fletcher? I was kind to him. That is all.”

Crowley tilted his head, as if the very concept of kindness was foreign to him.

“I saw him once talking with Shadwell. Looking back, maybe I should have warned you already of his plans. But I heard of his troubles, so I went to Randall, got the leftover food from that dinner you hosted for the masters, and went back to give it to him.”

“You mean it was that simple?”

“It is not so simple to a starving family! This is what I mean when I say that you are so disconnected from your workers.” Aziraphale sighed. “Remember your roots, Crowley. You and Anathema, when you too were working for your day’s wages.”

Crowley looked into space for a good few seconds. He crouched towards the floor. “I would have done the same.” The realization seemed to jar him.

Aziraphale was grateful at his comprehension. “If you say that it is impossible for you to raise their wages, then perhaps we may focus on measures that will prevent further strikes from happening in the first place.”

Crowley regarded him, chin in hand. “How do you suppose we go about that?”

“I am not sure. There are several good points to focus on. Education can be one of them.”

“You want me to build them a school?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Of course not. But think how much richer their fulfillment would be if we were to make it easier for their children to be sent to school?”

“What’s the sense in that? It sounds like too much bother than its worth.”

“It is a long term investment, but the children and parents will be so much the better for it. With schooling experience, not only will their minds be enriched, but there may also be better opportunities for the children when they enter the workforce.”

“You lose me, angel.” Crowley leaned back in his seat, long arms coming to rest on the back of the sofa. “In what way will any of those charitable Church-run schools be enriching their minds? How’s an impeccable recitation of Scripture to help them in finding a job?”

Aziraphale racked his brain at this, surprised. Had his own privileged position of having been properly educated made him somewhat blind? “I don’t… know.”

“Tell you what they need. Children need to see for themselves where this world is heading to.” Crowley’s foot tapped in excitement.

“What do you mean?”

“The workforce is _evolving_ , angel. All of it, the entire landscape, is changing. Depend upon it that in fifty to one hundred years, skilled engineers will be the pinnacle of the workforce hierarchy. For how else are we going to keep up with the rapid advancement of human innovation?”

“Surely you are exaggerating this a bit.”

He shook his head. “There are signs right now and you know it. Skilled workers are on the trend of being prized in society. Children need to jump into this trend. If they are to go to school at all, then these schools should be teaching them the sciences and more than just the rudimentary principles of arithmetics. Until they build schools like that and make them accessible to the poor, education is pretty much useless.”

Crowley tipped back his head as if meaning to take a nap. Aziraphale could only sit and stare at him with awe.

“I have never thought of that.” He flushed at how transparent he sounded, but he could not help it. At that moment, with Crowley loosened and relaxed in front of him, baring his thoughts and sentiments, Aziraphale could not think that he could love him more.

“Well, I am glad we’ve settled that,” Crowley said, standing up, even though their argument was not in the least bit settled. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I am dead tired after the day’s events.”

Aziraphale stood up as well, believing it was an appropriate time for him to return home. “Wait! My father’s book.”

Crowley jerked a thumb over at one of the bookcases behind his head. “Should be over there somewhere.”

Aziraphale walked over to it, scanning the various titles until he found the correct one. He pulled it out, revealing the title of the book that had been behind it. Frowning, he set a hand over the cover and pulled it out of the array.

“Crowley, why is there a copy of Lord Byron’s complete works in—”

He turned around and was shocked to see that he was alone.

Puzzled, he took Byron home with him that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit the scene where Crowley mulls over whether to come along on the trip then ultimately decides to go when he hears Elmwood is coming was inspired by one of my favorite scenes from Georgette Heyer's "The Grand Sophy" which is a slightly problematic yet fantastically hilarious Regency romance novel.
> 
> Coincidentally, Neil Gaiman has mentioned before that Aziraphale would have several Georgette Heyer's books memorized. Perhaps that's why I imbued a bit of Sir Charles Rivenhall into this version of Crowley.


	6. New Form of Retreat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for this chapter...

**Chapter Six - New Form of Retreat**

_Dear Cousin,_

_At long last, we are returned to London! I have forgotten how cold it is here during these months. It must be freezing up there in the North! I should dread so much to be in your place. I am also happy to inform you that Michael and Uriel are now engaged to be married, both to most respectable gentlemen. It is to be a double wedding set two months from today, and it is for this important matter that I write you this letter._

_We are, of course, expecting your presence in the wedding. But more than that, your dear cousins strongly feel that you would be better off if you remove yourself from Milton and return to here. While we understand that you cannot leave Mr. Fell, surely you consider that staying as you are is a fruitless endeavor? Sooner or later you will need to find a spouse, and think how much comfort it will be for you and your father once you are settled with your own estate. And where better to find a suitor than in here? In fact, I already have a few candidates. Come to London, Aziraphale. I promise you will not want for anything._

_I hope you give this some thought, and write to me only when you have prepared your response._

_Yours kindly,_

_Baron Gabriel A-Wesleyton_

Fletcher’s riot had marked the end of the strike. With most of the strikers already struggling and with no hope to be seen in the horizon, they trudged back to work a few days later. The Irish had been sent home, and the Pulsifer mills next to Aziraphale’s house once again bustled with activity.

Shadwell had been in a foul mood, cursing Fletcher endlessly. Had it not been for the riot, the strike could have been prolonged for a few days more. Worst of all, as the Union representative, he was being accused of orchestrating the entire thing. When he went back to Pulsifer Mills he was scorned by the Lady and sent out directly. Those who had been able to get their jobs back were made by the Lady to sign pledges indicating that they would not donate a portion of their wages to the Union.

“I know for a fact that the workers of Bentley Mills are not being forced to make such a pledge!” Aziraphale had told Shadwell after he’d heard of this account.

“Capital!” Replied Madame Tracy. “Can you not head over there and ask for work?”

“Why should I go ‘bout begging to that tyrant Crowley? I’m sure he means to make me beg, and then laugh in my face before sending me out!” Aziraphale wished there was more he could do to help, but Shadwell could not at all be persuaded to come to Crowley.

* * *

With things having more or less settled down, Captain Elmwood felt he can at last have his ball at Edensgate. This time, Aziraphale rode with Newton in his carriage. Newton could hardly contain his excitement.

“I think, Aziraphale, that it is almost time. For me to tell her.”

He encouraged his friend heartily.

The assembly hall looked nothing short of luxurious now that it contained all the preparations and the supposed “first-folk” of Milton. They joined Anathema almost immediately.

“Don’t you look stunning, Aziraphale. Were you looking to impress anyone?” Anathema scanned him approvingly. Madame Tracy had fussed over him earlier that day, insisting he stop by their house first to show her what clothes he would be wearing to the ball. Aziraphale elected for a long, tan coat donned with a lining of glistening gold on its edges. His inner shirt was a flurry of lace and ruffles and his knee breeches graded into a pair of silver satin heeled shoes.

Aziraphale replied with a light laugh. “I just figured that I do not get many chances to wear my favorite clothes here at Milton, so I may as well go all out.”

Elmwood chose this moment to address the room, signifying the start of the party. A lady that Aziraphale had not seen before was at his arm. At his signal, the band started preparing and several people about the room began to pair up.

Newton turned to Anathema with flourish. “May I have the honour of your first dance?”

A twinkle appeared in her eye as she grabbed his hand and tugged him to the dance floor.

The round of couples lined up in the middle of the room, with Elmwood and his partner in the very middle. The music started playing and Elmwood stepped forward, twirling the lady in his arms, then all the other couples joined in for a gleeful quadrille.

Aziraphale looked on wistfully at the dancers. To think that he could have opened the ball with Elmwood, only to end up partnerless. Still, that was no reason to spoil the party, and Elmwood did look rather cheery and his chosen partner a most graceful dancer. Newton and Anathema looked no less happy as they glided across the room, switching partners when the figure called for it. He figured this would be a good moment to get some refreshments.

He saw Crowley walking briskly to him as he reached the refreshments table. His heart soared. Crowley walked with great commandeer and confidence. With him in the room, all the rest did not stand a chance. With his dark suit and slim figure, he looked every bit the knight in shining armour or the gothic hero that Aziraphale had read many times over in his most secretly beloved novels. He could not help but stare.

“Aziraphale.” _What has saddened him so?_ “I am so sorry. If I had any inclination that this would happen, I would have told you immediately.”

Aziraphale fixed him with a blank stare. “I do not know what you mean, Crowley. Pray enlighten me.”

“ _Elmwood_ is what I mean.” Crowley stood before him, not close enough to be deemed improper, but enough that Aziraphale can reach out to touch his sleeve. Crowley gazed steadily at him. “He asked you for the first dance, and I thought he fully intended on seeing it through. I didn’t know that he would bring over his old flame! He is a disgrace!”

“Crowley, please—”

“You will forget him. With time, you will not even think of him anymore. And he is a fool to have abandoned you not just once—”

He laid a hand on Crowley’s chest, effectively silencing him. “Listen to me, dear. I have _no_ regrets.”

Aziraphale watched as comprehension dawned on his face. A bashful smile played on his lips. “So it seems I was mistaken.”

“Oh, don’t look so glum. You were very kind to comfort me.”

Crowley’s face morphed into disgust. “Don’t call me that. It has an ill taste.”

Aziraphale got an idea. He needed only to be brave enough to execute it. “You realize, of course, that such a mistake of yours warrants some consequences.”

Crowley turned serious. “What consequences?”

“Do not play dumb, Crowley. You have judged me wrongly, so—” he took hold of Crowley’s hand, pliant in his. “You must be punished into dancing the next set with me.”

He pulled Crowley to the dance area just as a song was ending, and deemed it a victory that Crowley let him.

They joined the group of dancers as a new song began to play. He faced Crowley, about a foot apart from him. They bowed to each other, and the music picked up again. Much to Aziraphale’s amusement (for then he thought that circumstances might be working against him tonight), this music turned out to be a familiar and beautiful melody.

A lovely flush blossomed on Crowley’s illustrious cheekbones. It appeared that he too had realized what the dance was to be. “I hope you do not mind,” he said to Aziraphale.

“Not at all,” Aziraphale whispered back, fully meaning it.

In cue with the music, Crowley stepped forward and took his hand. At this closer distance, he basked in the sensation of having Crowley’s undivided attention, shivering as Crowley used his thumb to run featherlight strokes on the back of his hand.

Aziraphale eyed him still as they glided backwards, away from one another and as they made one full circle about the persons next to them before reuniting in the middle, palms pressed.

The One-Handed Lovers’ Dance, they called it. A routine so risque for the old married ones, but so titillating to the youth. It was so embedded in his childhood lessons, but Aziraphale had been too young to appreciate, especially when he had only Uriel for a dance partner. A dance which connected two people by the hand, two hands becoming one, so that two people start to move as one. They separate, but their steps are matched, their countenances mirrored and synchronized throughout, and eventually find their way back to each other.

But Aziraphale did not care about all that. He just liked it for the music.

But tonight, with his hand cradled gently in Crowley’s the air was so thick and charged with sinuous energy. The atmosphere had changed so drastically he wondered how he was even still in the same room.

They moved in sync with the other dancers, now at a more relaxed pace. Aziraphale had always enjoyed this music. He could not help but smile, his heart light and nearly afloat as he did a series of slow and elegant turns around Crowley, the hold of their hands adjusting, but never fully releasing.

He was so filled with glee that he let out a laugh. Crowley joined him with equal merriment. Distantly, he sensed the increasing chatter from the other guests, probably concerning the two of them. But he paid them no mind.

Far too soon, the dance was over. And with another final bow to each other, their hands were once again their own. Aziraphale was dazed when he joined the others in resounding applause.

Then he looked at Crowley, who wasn’t clapping at all.

“Is something wrong, my dear?”

“You are so beautiful,” Crowley remarked breathlessly.

* * *

Sadly, Crowley became engaged with matters of business for the rest of the night, but Aziraphale was content. He allowed himself liberal use of the refreshments, rounds of merry laughter with Newton and Anathema, and even a light country dance shared with Anathema and later with Elmwood, both of whom shot him knowing looks but mercifully said nothing. Despite his inner turmoil, he returned home well past midnight, having had the time of his life.

He noticed that since his dance with Crowley had ended, never had his hand been so bitterly cold.

* * *

Aziraphale hummed a familiar tune as he picked up the dining ware after breakfast. Mr. Fell eyed him suspiciously. “You are in a joyful mood. Must have been a great party last night.”

“The best, father,” Aziraphale said half-dreamily.

With one last look, Mr. Fell returned to reading his newspaper when there was suddenly a knock on the door. The housekeeper answered it, and in a few seconds she appeared into the dining hall.

“A Miss Anathema Device for you, Mr. Aziraphale,” she said.

“I meant to go to Bentley Mills later this afternoon. What would Anathema need to come all the way here for?”

“I do not know, sir. But she came here expressly looking for you, and she has brought with her a carriage.”

Aziraphale crossed over to the drawing room. He found her wearing some of her best clothes as she stood in the middle of the room. “I am sorry to disturb,” she spoke hastily. “But I have received some urgent news and I thought to come by here to say good bye.”

“Good bye? Why on earth—”

She cut straight to the chase. “Crowley is sending me to London.”

“He has done _what?_ ”

“Apparently, he has been in talks with an acquaintance of his. The vice-chancellor of the University of London. I am to go there at once to study medicine.”

Aziraphale had trouble believing what he was hearing. “But must you go at once? Cannot you wait a few days?”

“I have specifically been told to leave at once.” She spoke so emotionlessly that Aziraphale wondered how she could brave it all.

“But, Anathema! What about Newton? He has been planning to—” he cut himself off, careful not to reveal too much. “Surely you want to be with him instead?”

A slight flicker of emotion betrayed her eyes, but she composed herself quickly. “I will miss him for sure.”

“Crowley has no right to do this. He cannot force you to go!”

“Sir, it’s fine. Really.” She smiled sadly. “I’ll miss you all, but surely we will see each other again.”

“Were you not supposed to be studying under tutelage of a local physician? Why would Crowley change his mind at the last minute?”

“I-I don’t know.” Anathema sighed. “He would not tell me what has happened. But sir, I beg you not to be angry with him. I’ve known him all my life and he always acts with reason.”

It seemed for the first time that his ‘reason’ was deeply prejudiced, Aziraphale thought in anger and disappointment.

“May you have a safe journey.”

He watched her carriage leave with trepidation. With a hastily worded remark to his father concerning his whereabouts, he left the house and made his way on foot to Bentley Mills. He walked without distraction, giving Winston a scarce greeting. He was just about to set towards Crowley’s office when he spotted the very man on the front steps of his house.

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale marched toward him. “Crowley, I mean to talk to you about something.”

He looked surprised. “I actually was about to go to your house. I mean to tell you something as well.”

“Then isn’t this just capital?” He said haughtily. “It is about—”

“—Please. I beg you let me speak first,” Crowley said, voice dropping low and slightly pleading. “Because I have spent such a long time deciding on whether to do this that now I have decided I _must_ go through with it or I might burst.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Very well. Get on with it then.”

“Aziraphale, I…” Crowley faltered. “We should go inside.”

He followed Crowley into the main drawing room, which was somehow even more silent than usual now that he knew Anathema wasn’t anywhere in the house. He waited for Crowley to take a seat, but he did not. He stayed resolutely pacing about the room. At last, he paused, took a deep breath, and looked at him.

“I did not think I would ever do this, so I’ve had little time to prepare,” he began, and Aziraphale had absolutely no clue what he was alluding to. “But as you have said last night, I was mistaken.”

“About Captain Elmwood?”

Crowley shook his head in a panicked gesture, pleading for Aziraphale to understand as it seemed that words were failing him. “About you.” He made another round of incomprehensible speech and raised his hands in frustration. “Aziraphale, do you really not have any idea what I am referring to?”

“I would if you would at last enlighten me, Crowley!” He desperately wanted to get this over with so that he can talk to him about Anathema.

“Then please understand me. I did not plan for any of this to happen but last night changed everything!” He stepped close to Aziraphale, taking both hands into his trembling ones. Aziraphale’s thoughts came to a halt as he watched it all unfold like some distant observer looking forth at a stranger. “This is all your fault. When you said your affections were not engaged I had allowed myself to hope.”

“Crowley… What?”

Something akin to a whine rose up from Crowley’s throat, his hold on Aziraphale’s hands tightening. “Please. I cannot. I can’t go on like this. Tell me now at once whether I had reason enough to hope, or if you cannot bear the sight of me then I shall leave. Just… _Tell me._ For against my better judgment, I want to marry you, angel.”

“W-what?” Aziraphale drew his hands back, his voice laden with disbelief. Crowley, jolted, recoiled back in a fearful stance.

“I see.” He chuckled darkly. “Of course, I don’t know why I even considered it. How could I have believed someone as perfect as you would ever see me as anything more than the scum that I am?”

Aziraphale shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears. “N-no. Crowley, it isn’t like that at all! It’s…” He stopped, entranced by the battle of his mind and his heart. His heart pounding through the walls of his chest yelled _‘Why aren’t you saying yes!’,_ and his mind… His mind was saying…

He loved Crowley, but never in the course of his realization did he consider the possibility of Crowley _reciprocating_. For he knew he was content with admiring the man from afar, with staying by his side as his friend—a friend to laugh and banter and confide with. Indeed Crowley could have gone on with his life and Aziraphale would have scarcely complained, so long as he got to stay by his side.

So what could this all mean? Aziraphale realized with dread that he had only few seconds to decide. He took a deep breath, letting his love for Crowley wash over him, run through him like water over some of Crowley’s plants.

“I do not want to get married.” It shocked him, but as he heard it said aloud he realized how true it was. “Not to you, or to anyone else.”

“How kind,” Crowley replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No! This is… You are so precious to me, Crowley.” Aziraphale stepped toward him. Crowley kept their distance by stepping back. “But this isn’t the life that I want. Milton has opened my eyes to so many things, and I realized that I don’t want to be a dawdling snobby spouse like Gabriel. But the mills _are_ you, Crowley. You cannot leave it. And I don’t want to be your secretary forever. I want to do _more._ ”

“I had no idea you were so unhappy here.” Crowley turned stiff. “Had you told me sooner, I would not have kept you.”

“I wasn’t unhappy! But Crowley, you are so difficult!” It was now Aziraphale’s turn to rise in frustration. “One minute I think I mean the world to you, and the next you barely see me as anyone worth talking to. Just when I think I have you figured out, you go and do something _completely_ beyond my expectations! It is hot and cold and no in between!”

“That’s not true. I think of you as a good friend of mine.”

“Then as a good friend, I thought I would have expected you hiring the Irish workers, or-or sending Anathema away so suddenly! And do not give that look claiming your innocence. I know you do not like Newton one bit and when I told you of his intentions of marrying her, the solution you sought out was separation of a perfectly content couple in love!”

“Is that so, Aziraphale?”

“What else could it be? You have shown your contempt of Newton before, though I own that I did not think you capable of such a crude act. For once, cannot you just let go of your prejudice towards him—”

“Crude? _Prejudiced?_ ” Crowley scoffed, all emotions now shuttered from him. Aziraphale felt the vestiges of fear seizing his chest at Crowley’s sudden turn of expression. “Is that how you truly think of me, Aziraphale?”

“Crowley—”

“Enough!” He snapped. Aziraphale had never before seen him look so darkly at him. “As evidently you see me as the demon that I truly am, then none of those actions should have surprised you. You may see yourself out. I am sorry to have wasted your time.”

By the time Crowley had stomped out of the house, Aziraphale wondered whether he’d done the right thing.

* * *

“I’ve received word from Sir Beel,” Mr. Fell said from his seat. They were both in the study minding their own books. Aziraphale buried his nose deep into a worn copy of one of his favored gothic novels, but his eyes scanned blankly over the pages.

“Is there any news from Oxford?”

Mr. Fell nodded. “I am to go there next week. But if you think there is any reason for me not to go, then I shall gladly stay here.”

“Father, you should go! I told you it will be good for you.”

“Well, just right now you’ve been looking so glum. What a great departure from this morning. Is something the matter?”

Aziraphale gave him a smile that he hoped was convincing. “I am fine. Stop making excuses not to travel. You would greatly enjoy being in Oxford again.” In all honesty, he dreaded being alone in the house. And with his job at Bentley Mills now practically inexistent, he wondered how he shall occupy his time. But his father had suffered enough. They never talked about it, but Aziraphale knew that he had never fully recovered from his mother’s death. He cannot let any of that get in the way of his father’s happiness.

“Write to me every day, will you?”

“You need not ask, father,” he assured him, and they spent the rest of the night in solitude with their respective books.

* * *

He visited Shadwell and Madame Tracy more often now. Seeing Newton reminded him too much of his last argument with Crowley, and he was fighting hard to forget that so that he may face Crowley again someday, and perhaps extend an apology. He longed to repair their friendship and have them return to normal, yet he dreaded what he would say that might anger him even more. With the Shadwells, he needed not be so careful. He barely even had to _speak_ at all. Shadwell had the most ridiculous but interesting insights, and Madame Tracy was a most entertaining storyteller. He accompanied her sometimes on rounds in the neighborhood, chatting and eating with them. They took kindly to him, always looking forward to his visits. It warmed his heart like no other and it helped him to forget about Crowley for a short while.

He wished he could undo all his feelings for him! Perhaps if he had not been so blatantly affectionate, Crowley would not have convinced himself that he ought to marry Aziraphale, and this entire mess would not have happened. He loved Crowley, but he had done nothing but wound him. Worst of all, he had to deal with the ache every day, wondering if there was any chance for their reconciliation.

He had to deal with the ache of missing him, an ache which dug into him until he was but a gaping hole left open.

He was shopping with Madame Tracy when he heard of him again.

“You will never guess who has dropped by our house last night,” she began excitedly. “I could hardly believe it myself!But when I opened the door, there was Mr. Crowley of Bentley Mills!”

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, wholly unprepared to be hearing his name spoken again. “Crowley himself? Whatever did he go there for?”

She bounced on her toes, momentarily looking like a young infatuated maiden. “Oh, Aziraphale, he was so _dashing!_ I fully understand your fascination with him now.” Aziraphale smiles, wincing. “Don’t give me that look, I know he is all yours but I should be allowed to—”

“—Madame Tracy, if you would _please_ , proceed with the story.”

“Very well. He asked to talk with my husband. And that went on for quite a while, you know him.” She let out an amused smile. “But by the end of it—he has offered Shadwell a job! Can you believe it! I could almost believe them to be friends now.”

Aziraphale _was_ surprised. “Wow. That is incredible. I congratulate you!”

“A _master_ coming into a worker’s home to ask him to come for work is so unheard of!”

“But Crowley is not like all the other masters at all.” A bout of sadness tainted his fondness as he spoke. “He is the best of them. This should not have come as a surprise to me at all.”

And just like that, he missed him again. He did not care anymore what Crowley thought of him. The next time he saw him, he shall beg for his forgiveness. He dearly wanted them to be friends again.

* * *

It came as a greater shock to him when he returned home and found Crowley in the study with Mr. Fell. The door to the library stood ajar, and against his better judgment he stood by the entryway, listening to the sound of Crowley’s voice.

“I am very sorry to hear that this is to be our last session, Mr. Crowley,” said Mr. Fell. “I’m sure you are aware of my partiality for you. I am very fond of hearing your insights.”

“Likewise, Mr. Fell. I have had a newfound appreciation of philosophy since meeting you.”

“I guess it is also for the best, as I will be leaving for Oxford soon. Truth be told, I do not think there is much need for someone like me here in Milton.”

“You are too severe, sir. We will be sorry to see you go. I should be sorry to leave you, only that my work with the mills has gotten so heavily in the way.”

“Tell me honestly, Mr. Crowley. Are things really so bad?”

Crowley took a while to respond, as if weighing his answers carefully. “I may as well tell you. You may already know that I have purchased a loan from the bank which I put into new machinery. At the time we were doing very well and I could not have predicted the incoming attacks from competition. Prices went down. I’ve worked with your son to try and rally some investors’ support, and it did work for a while. It was looking well.”

“And then the strikes occurred.”

“Indeed. The strikes caused delays in many orders. And even at the end of it all, the work of the Irish had too many faults that I could hardly expedite any orders without having them re-done.”

“Is there no way to fix all this?”

“I am… considering one. But, I am unsure.” Crowley paused. “More so because it was presented to me by Hastur.”

“Not anything illegal, I hope.”

“No, nothing like that. He means to entice me into a speculation. A rather big one at that. Should it be successful, all these financial struggles will be done with and no one would have suspected that I was ever in trouble.”

“But it is not your first time dwelling into speculations, correct?”

“True. But back then it was entirely different. I was young, ambitious, and literally had nothing to lose.”

“And now?”

Crowley released a tired sigh. “Right now, Mr. Fell, the payroll of my employees is secure and I have just enough to pay back all my creditors with interest.”

“I see. You would not risk it.”

“I don’t know if I still have it in me to start all over again. I’ve never been this honest to anyone before, but I am _exhausted_.”

Aziraphale’s heart ached for him.

“I’m very sorry to hear it. But if there is anything I am certain of, it’s that you are fully capable of saving this.”

“You give me too much credit.”

“Depend upon it, Mr. Crowley. I know you. One way or another you _will_ prevail.”

Aziraphale could not listen to any more. He sat in the drawing room, waiting until Crowley left the study. Upon hearing the familiar steps, he stood up.

They looked at each other, the first time since their last big argument. Crowley gave a curt bow, making haste toward the front door.

“Crowley,” he said, catching up to him. “Crowley, please.”

He did not stop walking. Aziraphale wanted to tell him so many things. _I am sorry. Let us be friends. Is the speculation really so risky? How can I comfort you?_ But Crowley went too fast for him to gather his thoughts properly.

“Thank you for hiring Shadwell,” was what he said. “It means a lot to me.”

“I didn’t do it for you.” Crowley reached the door. Aziraphale caught his wrist on the handle.

“I know. If you ever do, I certainly do not deserve it.” He tried to gather his thoughts to make proper speech, but Crowley beat him to it.

“You don’t have to put up will all these pretenses, Aziraphale. I know perfectly well where I stand. And I will not repeat the sentiments which have so thoroughly disgusted you. Neither of us wants to hear it said again.”

“No, I—”

“In fact, consider it _unsaid_ from now on.” Crowley twisted the door handle and leaft without sparing him another glance.

Aziraphale stood looking at the space Crowley occupied for quite some time.

It was over. Whatever hopes he may have harboured about repairing his friendship with Crowley have diminished. It was well and truly over, with the order of complete finality coming from Crowley himself.

Not knowing what else to do, he allowed a few tears to fall. A short moment of vulnerability he allowed himself, before he wiped off his tears and calmed down his sobs enough to enter his room and write a short letter.

_Dear Lord Gabriel,_

_I would be glad to accept your invitation, if it is not too much trouble for my cousins. My father is to leave for Oxford in a few days. I will take him there first and set forth straight to London thereafter_ _…_


	7. High Society

**Chapter Seven - High Society**

**_Two months later_ ** **_…_ **

_It was nearing midnight, and Anthony Crowley, Master of Bentley Mills, was only just retiring from his office. Out in the cold open air, he noticed a light still turned on from the mills. Suspicious, he walked over to inspect it._

_Shadwell exited from the building, followed by a small group of workers. They made small talk which was instantly hushed when they saw Crowley awaiting them, his top hat visible from above the porch railings._

_“Evening, master,” greeted Shadwell._

_“What’re you doing here? Your shift ended hours ago.” He looked over at each person before stopping to scrutinize on Shadwell. “What are you planning now?”_

_“Relax. We ain’t plannin’ anything. Work wasn’t finished, so we stayed a bit behind until it’s all done.”_

_Crowley, for all his usual skepticism, can tell that Shadwell was telling the truth and that he ought to be thankful. Still, old habits die hard._ _“You know you won’t get paid for overtime.”_

 _Shadwell scoffed._ _“Wasn’t expecting to.” He signaled to the rest of the group to go ahead. With small goodbyes to the master, only Crowley and Shadwell remained in the courtyard. “You don’t get paid overtime as well. You almost never leave the office. When you’re not in the mills with us, you’re still just there. You don’t go out much, do you?”_

 _Crowley shrugged. There wasn_ _’t any reason for him to be anywhere else. “It’s different for me. I don’t have family, unlike you. How is little Peter?” When Fletcher’s wife succumbed to illness, Shadwell had offered to care for one of their children, as he and his wife had none of their own._

_“Always hungry, that lad. Eats like a monster. Can never get him to feel full.” Shadwell leaned back on the railing of the porch. Crowley followed suit, training his gaze to the sky._

_“Hungry already? It’s not even the end of the week yet,” Crowley said in jest._

_Shadwell instead turned serious._ _“Sometimes, master, it’s still hard to come by some food even with money in your pocket.”_

 _He considered this. Distantly, he remembered being in the same situation, so long ago. And the looming possibility that he may find himself in that situation yet again embeds itself in his mind. He shook off the thought. The important thing was that he had already settled Anathema_ _’s schooling, then she will have been taken care off. He could well do the rest alone._

_“If only you can buy the food in bulk. You will save quite a bit of money,” he mused. Shadwell turned to look at him. “Feed twenty people instead of two. Go set up a kitchen for everyone instead of just your family.”_

_“There’s space in one of the sheds out back,” said Shadwell. “And m’wife makes the best pork and gravy.”_

_“Hm. Well it’s your idea, not mine.” Crowley pushed himself off of the railing, making to walk away, and he left the conversation at that._

* * *

“Surely you do not mean to go out dressed like _that_.”

Aziraphale glanced down at his clothes. “Please, Gabriel, I am not even leaving the house, just going downstairs.”

Gabriel appraised his outfit, face tainted with disapproval. “You ought to be dressed more elegantly. This coat does not do your figure any good.”

Aziraphale sighed, seeing that it was useless to argue with Gabriel when he was in a critical mood. He walked back to his closet, retrieving two other waistcoats of a slightly different shade than the one he was wearing. He presented them to his cousin. “Why don’t you choose, then?”

“You should be taking this more seriously, Aziraphale. Sandalphon will be here any moment now.”

“I do not know how I can be any more serious than this.”

“Sit down.” He gestured to the couch by the foot of Aziraphale’s bed. This room, which had been his only solitude since his arrival in London, suddenly felt constricting. He sat down. Gabriel followed suit, sitting on the other end. “I hope you realize how crucial this day is.”

“You have only gone over it six times before.” Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I have reason to believe that when Sandalphon comes into this house today, he means to propose to you.”

Aziraphale already knew this, nevertheless: “Go on.”

“Now, I don’t want to tell you what you ought to do.” Aziraphale almost laughed at this. Telling him what to do was Gabriel’s personal past time and perhaps only source of amusement. “But I would advise you to say yes.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Will that be all?”

“Actually, no.” Gabriel sat up straighter. “We’ve just been to Michael’s and Uriel’s double wedding. Did you not think of how fine it was? We want to see you equally as happy, Aziraphale.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, Sandalphon is a younger son so he isn’t to inherit the family estate, but he _is_ an up-and-coming barrister. Recently, he has been presented to the Queen’s Court! As far as spouses go, I should think, you can do far worse than him.”

“Of course.”

“More importantly, the Omsleys are a great friend to us.” Gabriel took on an expression of deep concern. “I am not blind to your troubles, dear cousin. I know how out of place you’ve always felt in this house.”

“Did you really?”

Gabriel nodded. “But, if you marry Sandalphon, all of that will be erased. You will no doubt be one of us.”

“I see.”

“And lastly, it would be to your greatest advantage to accept this proposal. Let’s face it, Aziraphale, you are unlikely to receive any other offer.”

“Ah, of course.”

There was a knock on the door, and the butler came in, announcing. “Mr. Sandalphon Omsley is here, Mr. Aziraphale.”

Gabriel clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner at Chilston. I expect to hear some happy news.” He gave Aziraphale a dazzling smile and got up to leave.

Aziraphale looked in the mirror. Surely the waistcoat didn’t look that bad? He smoothed down his clothes and made his way downstairs to meet Sandalphon.

* * *

_“Upon my word, Aziraphale!”_

Gabriel pattered down the halls the next day, frantically running his hands through his hair. Aziraphale walked in from the kitchen, having made himself a cup of tea. He smiled in greeting.

“Good afternoon, Gabriel.”

“After everything I have done to secure his attachment, you ungrateful little brat!” A couple of servants peered into the room before going back quickly into hiding. “What did you tell him that made him think so despicably ill of you?”

“I do not recall telling him anything offensive.” Aziraphale made a show of tapping a hand to his chin. “Perhaps Mr. Sandalphon is just a bit sensitive.”

“Our relation with the Omsleys hinges greatly on your treatment of Sandalphon!—Though I do not expect you to understand such things.”

Aziraphale held his tongue.

“I shall go see if I can still fix this.” Gabriel fixed him with a menacing look. “I do not know what has gotten into you while you were in Milton that you have suddenly decided to be the most uncouth and ill-bred person of my relation, but you best do this right the next time!”

Aziraphale startled at this, but said nothing. He sincerely hoped he had offended Sandalphon enough that Gabriel wouldn’t succeed.

“I’ll try to invite him to dinner with us tonight.” Gabriel stopped his pacing and looked at Aziraphale. “Change into your best clothes! Show some respect to Lord Wesleyton.”

* * *

Chilston House can best be described as a quaint little mansion, if such a thing did exist. It was certainly not as large as any of Gabriel’s country houses, but significantly large considering how expensive land was in London. Upon arriving, Gabriel greeted him with a forceful hug. Aziraphale readied his just-as-fake smile. Lord Wesleyton looked on from the side, shaking his hand once Gabriel let go of him.

“Good to see you again, Aziraphale.” He led them to the direction of the dining hall. “I believe Sandalphon is already here.”

He eyed Gabriel warily. Gabriel looked back, smirking. “Is he now?” Aziraphale said stiffly.

Gabriel grabbed his elbow, leaning in to hiss at his ear. “This is your last chance. Do _not_ ruin it.”

The corridor was long enough that they simply cannot walk through it in complete silence. Aziraphale was already beginning to suffocate under the weight of the numerous unnecessarily large paintings on the walls. Lord Wesleyton spoke again. “I’ve invited a guest of my own, if you don’t mind. I am interested in delving into the dirty world of manufacturing, so I’ve taken on a consultant. Aziraphale, you have come from Milton-Northern, correct? You may perhaps know a thing or two about it.”

“I do not think I am any sort of expert on it, my Lord. I was not there very long.” That was the most that he had said about Milton since he left, and he preferred to keep it that way.

They arrived at the archway leading to the dining room. The room’s two attendants stood up upon their arrival. Aziraphale rechecked the sincerity level of his plastered smile and bowed in greeting to Sandalphon, who nodded stiffly at him. He turned away from Sandalphon to the other person, and bowed—

To _Crowley_.

He blinked a couple of times to be certain this was not a figment of his imagination. Maybe it was someone who merely looked like him?

“Aziraphale, do meet my technical consultant, Mr. Anthony Crowley.” Lord Wesleyton guided him across the room, toward Crowley. There was something different about him. His red hair was not tied in its usual bun anymore, instead it was cropped short at the back of his head, shooting up into a mass of unruly spikes over his crown. It was equal parts strange and charming. A smooth black neckstock enclosed his collar—a far cry from his lazily tied cravats. Not knowing what to do, Aziraphale extended his hand.

Crowley did not take it, or perhaps he was pretending not to see it, a task that was not so difficult since he still had those dastardly shaded lenses on. “We are already acquainted, my Lord.” His hands remained firmly clasped in front of him.

Aziraphale can feel Gabriel glaring daggers at his back. He resolutely ignored it, basking once again in the feeling that being in Crowley’s mere presence provided him.

“Are you?” Lord Wesleyton continued, oblivious to the crackle of tension arising between the two. “Oh, yes, you are a Milton native after all. You have probably run into each other once or twice.”

“Indeed,” said Aziraphale, fake smile slowly becoming genuine. “Welcome to London, Mr. Crowley.”

They took their seats around the host. By some odd conspiracy, Aziraphale ended up seated next to Crowley. Not even in all the dinner parties they’ve hosted and participated in at Milton had this ever happened before.

“How is your father, Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked over their first course.

“Quite well in Oxford, thank you,” he answered politely.

“Does he have plans to return to Milton soon?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps he means to, someday. He had some pupils there, but I think he finds the company of his Oxford friends more stimulating.”

“I do not blame him,” said Gabriel, taking a sip of his wine. “I do not see what manufacturers and tradespeople will find so interesting about the grand philosophies of the universe. I believe they have not the brainpower for it! Isn’t that true, Mr. Crowley? Surely you people find it all a bother.”

Aziraphale gripped his fork tightly. Gabriel will surely pay for his statement once Crowley—

“That is true,” Crowley replied.

Gabriel smiled smugly. He did so love to be agreed with. “If Mr. Fell wishes to find intellectual company then he truly is better off within the academe, where he no doubt belongs.”

“You are right, Mr. Crowley, to be sidestepping the grand philosophies,” Sandalphon piped in. “The Christian faith is decaying as it is. We must go back to simpler times! Do away with this movement of intellectualism, of—”

“Of dissenting?” Aziraphale snapped. “Like my father?”

He was sure that Sandalphon meant to form a reply, but Aziraphale fixed that with a stern glare, and the man was reminded of the Aziraphale that rejected his proposal. He shut up.

Within his peripheral vision, Aziraphale thought he saw a glimmer of amusement in Crowley’s suppressed smile.

Mercifully, Gabriel engaged Sandalphon in another topic of conversation. Aziraphale spoke low so that only Crowley can hear.

“Will you be in London for long?”

“Probably not.” His heart sunk a little. “I usually meet Lord Wesleyton in Darkshire. This is just a courtesy call while I visit Anathema at university.”

“Did you, perhaps, expect this to happen?” He whispered hoarsely.

“Not a single bit.”

“Still.” Aziraphale kept his gaze trained on the meal before him. “I am very glad to see you again.”

* * *

At the end of the dinner, they gathered at the reception area. Lord Wesleyton engaged Crowley into some private conversation, and Aziraphale stood awkwardly. Gabriel had sent a carriage over to take him to Chilston, but knowing him, he probably had no plans of loaning him the carriage to go back home.

He confirmed this once they have bid their farewells. Crowley was the first to exit the house, his retreating form a few steps before him. Just as he predicted, Sandalphon was already approaching him, no doubt to offer him the carriage ride he conveniently happened to need at the moment.

Blatantly ignoring the heavy steps behind him, Aziraphale broke into near sprint as he caught up to Crowley, who looked back, confused. Sandalphon’s steps quickened its pace, and he heard his name called out. Deciding it was now or never, Aziraphale boldly took Crowley’s arm.

“Aziraphale, wha—”

“I need to ride in your carriage.”

“ _Need_ to?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips, subtly eyeing Sandalphon behind them. “See Sandalphon over there? Gabriel has set it up so that I will ride in his carriage tonight.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I would rather marry Shadwell.”

Crowley barked out in laughter. It was so beautifully unexpected that Aziraphale was instantly entranced. “Fine, fine.” Crowley tugged his arm closer so that Aziraphale was pressed to his side—an almost subconscious action. “If only to spite Gabriel. The guy is a _bore_.”

By the time they reached Crowley’s carriage, Sandalphon had already given up on following Aziraphale. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hm, I did not think he would give up so easily,” Aziraphale said. “I thought he would wait until he sees I am in your carriage.”

“You may have greatly lowered his spirits after you spited him over at dinner.”

“Thank heavens for that! I have been purposely fending him off for a _month_.” Aziraphale pouted. “Gabriel is so convinced that it is my destiny to marry him.”

“A very dumb move for him,” Crowley said with a hint of fondness.

“Thank you for that, by the way. I could probably walk home now that Sandalphon is gone.”

Crowley frowned. “Don’t be absurd. We are already here. I may as well take you to your home.”

It was only now that the prospect of being alone with Crowley again hit him. He flushed.

The coachman opened the door. Aziraphale told him the address and climbed in, followed by Crowley.

Seated across from each other in the dim coach, Aziraphale can fully appreciate Crowley’s profile. He liked this new look on him so much that Aziraphale was giddy with the sight of it—of Crowley, his best friend whom he missed so much and thought of every single day since he left Milton. For the past two months, he felt he had been ever so slowly drifting to sleep. Now his soul was wide awake, waiting intensely on each second that passed by.

“When will you be seeing Anathema?” Aziraphale asked, eager to get him talking, just to hear his voice again.

“Tomorrow. I am to return to Milton directly after.”

“And how is Milton? Have there been any more strikes?”

Crowley shook his head. “I am closing up the mills.”

“What? Crowley, you can’t!”

He seemed so oddly calm about this, but perhaps it was because he has had more time to come to terms with it. “Things have been going south for quite a while. I am putting it down now while I am still solvent. Will probably take about a month or so.”

“Solvent? What about Hastur’s speculation?” Aziraphale remembered from the conversation between he and Mr. Fell that he had eavesdropped on.

“How’d you know about that?—No matter. And no, I passed on it.” Crowley gave a pained expression. “It succeeded, actually. Never heard the end of it from him. The bastard is rolling in cash now.”

“I shudder to think what he will do with it all.”

“You and me both,” Crowley agreed. “It’s funny. I have done everything so right and so carefully all my life to build this all up, I make one dumb mistake and it all comes crashing down.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You didn’t make a mistake, Crowley. Choosing not to gamble out the livelihood of your workers is not a mistake, and I admire you greatly for it.”

A comfortable silence set in. Aziraphale saw that they were nearing his residence and hastened to speak. “What will you do now?”

“Dunno,” Crowley said absently, staring out the window. “I’ve some assets in railways floating around. Try to make something out of that, I suppose.”

“Then I wish you well.”

Much too soon, they reached the front of the Angelford’s house. The coach halted to a stop.

“Very impressive,” commented Crowley. “Suppose you must be ecstatic to live here.”

Aziraphale scrunched his face in disapproval. “It isn’t my house, it’s Gabriel’s. You ought to be thankful you didn’t meet Michael and Uriel. They’re in their respective honeymoons right now.”

“If you hate them so much, why don’t you just leave?”

“They are my family,” he replied as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Much as I’d like, it is difficult to just rid their presence from my life.”

Crowley looked him in the eyes. “Are you at least happy here?”

He considered it for a bit. Living in London wasn’t so bad, but he found that he did miss Milton. But as he looked over at Crowley, he realized Milton may yet be a distant memory similar to Helstone. That he had passed up on his one chance of great happiness there the day that Crowley proposed to him, and he was never to forget it.

“It’s not so bad. But I would like it much better if I have a house of my own here and only visit my cousins when I need to.”

Crowley nodded. “That is all? You don’t even wish for a companion?”

“I do.” Crowley averted his gaze. “I should like it even better if my father were here as well. Then perhaps, I’d be well and truly happy.” Or at the very least, content.

Crowley opened the door. “You should write to Anathema. I know she’d love to see you again.”

Aziraphale wanted to cry. He wasn’t sure if he’ll ever see Crowley again. He took one last lingering look, attempting to commit everything to memory—a memory of what he could have had once upon a time, and one he’d look back on with only the fondest sentiments.

“Thank you, Crowley. For everything.” Perhaps he can still get glimpses of him when he goes to visit London in the future. That should be enough. It had to be.

He got off the coach. As he walked down the steps to the front door, tears spilled out over his cheeks so he didn’t look back as the carriage, holding the love of his life, drove away.

* * *

He heard from Anathema only a few days after seeing Crowley. Upon meeting her, Crowley had told her of his chance meeting and gave her his details so that they may correspond. She seemed greatly excited in her letter. Aziraphale, relieved to be meeting a friend that was beyond Gabriel’s hold of acquaintanceships for once, replied directly. They agreed to meet in Hyde Park the next day.

Aziraphale got to the meeting spot first. He had not had many chances to visit this park, finding it much too gallant and pretentious for his tastes, but his cousins found it a favored spot to socialize with other members of society, riding their open carriages in broad daylight to showcase their coat of arms. Today, it was no less of an affair, as carriages of different kinds made their way around. Aziraphale, on foot, was undeterred.

He found a place of seating, looking out over the lush green of Kensington Gardens. Anathema joined him soon after. He was so glad to see her, and when she launched into her spiel of engaging stories about her life as a university student, Aziraphale listened with great interest.

“I am glad to hear it,” said Aziraphale. “Even though Crowley has sent you here so unexpectedly, it is great that you’ve adjusted so well.”

“Oh, about that. That’s actually his intent for visiting me. He told me that he sent me here because of a letter he received a few months back.”

Aziraphale vaguely recalled a piece of letter that caused great agitation to Crowley but would not tell him about. “What was in the letter?”

“A threat for my safety,” she said, nonchalant. “It was back when the strike was ongoing. He didn’t tell me exactly what it said, but I believe it contained a graphic account of what was to happen to me should Crowley fail to meet their demands of a pay raise.”

Aziraphale was still piecing it all together, but a deep bout of comprehension was dawning on him.

“I don’t understand. If it was anything this serious, why would he refuse to tell me about it?” The spark of anger was back. He could have suggested some measures for Anathema’s safety, or maybe presented some alternative plans. Was he not worthy of such confidence? Did Crowley ever really trust him?

“Because he thought it was Shadwell that sent it, and I am to understand that he is a friend of yours.” Anathema explained everything so coolly, as if such affairs were nothing dramatic compared to the daily events of her life. “I have had some suspicions as to what was going on, but the visions I was getting were all so vague. Took me a while to piece it all together.”

“ _Shadwell_?” He said, disbelieving. “The man is incapable of killing a fly, never mind a human being.”

“See, this is exactly why he didn’t tell you. He knew that once he made the mere suggestion, you would instantly launch into defense.”

“Absurd, that is!” Aziraphale scoffed. “I do not pick quarrels with him _all_ the time.”

Anathema gave him a meaningful look.

“Fine. Maybe I do,” he relented. “But I could have helped!”

“He did not want to involve anyone else until he was certain about who sent it.”

“So who was it really?”

Anathema leaned back in her seat, her legs stretching out in front of her in a decidedly unladylike manner—not that she ever cared about how she was perceived, but the contrast was amplified in their current setting. “He had a hunch by the time the riot took place.”

“Fletcher!” Aziraphale gasped. “I should have known he would stoop to doing something so low.”

She nodded. “But you took care of that. When the strike ended, he went to see Shadwell himself to confirm his suspicions. They talked to Fletcher, banned him from Bentley Mills, and at the end of it, Crowley invited Shadwell to work for him as a supervisor of sorts.”

Aziraphale was silent as he pondered this.

She continued talking. “I did tell him that I am not scared of a silly threat. I’d gladly stay in Milton still, but he insists on keeping me here for the time being just in case. Are you alright, Aziraphale?”

He shook his head. “Anathema, I have been so severe on him!” He covered his face, unrelenting shame bearing down on him. “I thought he separated you because of his dislike of Newton—oh, what a fool he must think I am!”

“Oh. _Oh!_ ” To his mortification, she laughed—a habit, it appeared, that extended to both siblings. “You are very kind to be thinking of that, but no. I don’t think he has any reason to find fault in Newton, and even if he does he knows better than to stop me. I am quite good at getting my own way when I feel he is in the wrong.”

“I do not doubt it.”

“I miss Newton. I would marry him in a heartbeat—” at Aziraphale’s inquisitive look, she interjected “— _of course_ I knew he was going to propose. But I am happy here. University is such a dynamic environment and I could talk about all things strange and horrifying without others batting an eye. I do not know why I hadn’t thought of coming here myself.”

Aziraphale congratulated her. Truly he had never seen her so happy. This girl, who was so strange and intellectually vibrant, would do well in whatever passion she chose. They made promises to meet with each other again as they parted ways. A lingering guilt followed Aziraphale on the way home.

For the first time since he left Milton, he allowed himself to ponder on what could have been. What if he had agreed to Crowley’s proposal? He might have done anything in his power to help Crowley with his struggles. They would have talked to Shadwell and Fletcher together. Maybe together, they would have figured out a way to save the mills and help its workers. Above all, he would still be _with_ Crowley, living with the person he loved and communicating with people that he actually cared about—as opposed to his empty life in London, living in an empty house and with no prospect of any other responsibility other than to repeatedly dodge his meddling cousin’s matchmaking antics. Why did he ever think that this would be the life he had preferred?

Of course. Because Crowley had made it clear that he did not care about him anymore. Memories of his biting words haunted him in his dreams, the pain made more real with each repetition. With great mortification, he viewed himself as Crowley would and realized that whatever feelings he may have held for Aziraphale before would undeniably have dissipated the moment he accused Crowley of separating Newton and Anathema.

_“Is that how you truly think of me, Aziraphale?”_

The pain behind those words now came to him with great clarity. Because Crowley was anything _but_ cruel and prejudiced. He was not the type of person to intentionally break off the happiness of the people he cared about. And he did care. He cared so much about Anathema, about the mills, his workers—he had so much kindness that Aziraphale could only hope to amount to himself.

He was lucky that Crowley chose to entertain his civilities on their last meeting. He blushed to remember how friendly he had acted, when Crowley had every right to turn him away. He obviously meant to, in the beginning, when he refused to shake Aziraphale’s hand. But for some reason, Crowley had warmed up to him a bit later, and Aziraphale took advantage of it. He was a fool. Not under any capacity will Crowley’s affections for him be rekindled now, and he had sorely made the worst decision he made in his life.

* * *

Aziraphale stepped down the staircase the following morning to find Gabriel already waiting at the bottom. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He said flatly.

“Michael and Uriel have returned from their honeymoons with their husbands,” Gabriel answered coldly. “We are to have breakfast with them. I will wait here until you are dressed.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, mentally recounting several defensive remarks that he had prepared especially for days when he had to deal with all of his cousins at once, when a footman approached him with an envelope.

“Letter for you, Mr. Aziraphale.”

He thanked him and opened the seal. Gabriel tapped his foot in impatience. “Well? Is it really so important?”

Aziraphale scanned the writing quickly. “It is from my father.” His eyes skipped over words that stood out and his heart hammered wildly in his chest. He turned and ran back up the staircase, locking himself in his room.

_My dearest son,_

_I write to you with the most unexpected news! As you know, I have been occupying myself with many matters here at Oxford, though I find myself wanting of some sense of permanence. Sir Beel can only extend their graces to me for so long, but sooner or later I must get back to work myself._

_In that regard, I was most shocked to receive a letter today requesting my presence, to occupy a vacant post under one College at the University of London! You may find this difficult to comprehend, my son. I myself thought if Sir Beel or any of my other friends here had anything to do with it. But you will not believe it, for it was actually Mr. Anthony Crowley who spoke with the Vice-Chancellor and recommended me for the post._

_The Vice-Chancellor requests that I set out for London at once so that I may undergo a screening process to determine whether I am fit for the job, but my son, the very prospect fills me with such joy! You know how greatly I enjoy teaching, and to be a university professor at this stage of my life, after everything that has happened, is something that is beyond my wildest dreams._

_I set out for London tomorrow, but upon your receipt of this letter, you may take some time to think about how we best settle our affairs. Do you still plan to remain in London? Because if you do, we may very well cancel our lease at the house in Churley street and obtain an apartment near the university instead. A professor_ _’s wage is not so secure, but I am confident we can live comfortably between just the two of us. And I believe you would find the prospect more appealing as opposed to living in Gabriel’s property._

_I await your response on these matters eagerly. Be comforted, Aziraphale, that your poor old father is as settled as he can be._

_Your most faithful and overjoyed father,_

_M._ _Richard Fell_

* * *

“Shall I make a cup of tea, my Lord?” The butler asked Gabriel as he sat in the main drawing room.

“I didn’t ask for anything, did I?” He snapped. “Get out of my sight.”

At last, Aziraphale’s hurried steps came bounding down the stairs.

“You certainly took your time.”

He took in Aziraphale’s appearance—wide-eyed, ungroomed, and hastily dressed. “Why on earth are you dressed like that?”

“No time to explain! Have a train to catch!” Aziraphale flung a suitcase wildly over the railing, skipping two steps at a time to reach the landing. He paused, grabbed Gabriel’s hand. “I am so grateful for everything, dear cousin.”

“What are you talking about? And why do you have a case?”

Aziraphale smiled, looking at Gabriel as if he was teaching a toddler. “Because, Gabriel, I am going after the love of my life. Though I would not expect you to understand such things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kind feedback! If you like this story so far, please leave Kudos and a comment! We are nearing the end of the story now--only one chapter and an epilogue to go!
> 
> Admittedly, writing Gabriel made me so uncomfortable because I based him on my own boomer relatives, so I did my best to try to get Aziraphale to feel what they make me feel whenever I'm forced to go on family reunions and listen to their elitist rants.


	8. Haste and Speed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a train to catch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual themes in this chapter, so I've upped the rating from T to M just in case

**Chapter Eight - Haste and Speed**

_Aziraphale,_

_I do not know what the hell has gotten into you, but unless you return to London at once and accept Sandalphon’s offer, you will live to regret it!_

_You have one last chance to do the right thing here._

_—Gabriel_

Aziraphale crumpled up the note and promptly tossed it aside. The piece of paper was already waiting for him by the time he reached Churley street. He stayed a bit to set the house in order with their housekeeper, who had kept watch over the house in their absence. Then, he wrote back a brief note to his father concerning his whereabouts, telling him not to let any of it deter his plans.

He basked in the solitude of the house, finally able to breathe.

He may have come here for Crowley, but the idea of simply entering Bentley Mills and informing him of his presence seemed so absurd to him. Maybe he will encounter him by chance somewhere, and they can strike up an easy conversation, or-or…

He truly didn’t know. So he stalled by setting off for the Shadwells’ home.

He supposed, in a way, that it was already helpful just to know that Crowley was somewhere close by, and to see his surroundings as something that Crowley may have interacted with. He knew, however, that he cannot stall for much longer. Who knows where Crowley will be going once the mills have been shut down?

Aziraphale will not lose him again.

He caught Madame Tracy just on the way out. She spotted him and let out a squeal of delight. “Where are you off to on this fine day?” Aziraphale asked once they have made their pleasantries. He took the basket that she had been holding.

“To Bentley Mills, of course! It is nearing their lunch time.” At Aziraphale’s look of confusion, she continued. “Oh, yes, lots of changes have happened since you left! They have a communal canteen now. Everyone does a bit of chipping in to buy food, and I take shifts with someone else to cook them.”

“Are you serious?” Aziraphale asked, pleasantly surprised. “I have never heard of such a thing!”

“Well, it was my husband’s initiative. But he tells me the idea came from Master Crowley himself. Isn’t he just a fine creature? I always thought so, you know.”

“Wait, so you are taking this for the workers of Bentley Mills?” He gestured to the basket.

She nodded. “It contains some fruits which they might like.”

Aziraphale wondered whether it was a good idea to walk with her, but the task seemed so innocent, and he was made quite curious to see the workers’ canteen. If they were to go straight to the area during lunch period, then it was unlikely that he will encounter Crowley.

“Mr. Aziraphale, you have returned!” The gatekeeper greeted him as they enter.

“It is good to see you as well, Winston,” he said, smiling.

He breathed in deep as they cross the courtyard, a flood of memories coming back to him at once. He looked around, but dared not look in the direction of Crowley’s office. They walked straight ahead, past the structure containing the mills, and to an area that Aziraphale had not been to before.

They entered into a smaller, rundown structure. The concrete walls were unpainted, the windows were missing, and though one might think it to be cold, the place was greatly warmed by the harmonies of laughter ringing from people inside. Madame Tracy paused to look at him, gauging his reaction.

“Come on in, Mr. Aziraphale.”

He stepped into the room. All the workers were on long tables, their diningware prepared as the food was distributed. They made idle chatter. The atmosphere was so light that Aziraphale cannot believe he was actually in the mills. He looked to Madame Tracy in wonder.

She led him into a slightly hidden enclave where the cooking was done. A female neighbor of the Shadwells was distributing soup into large bowls before a man picked them up and set them on the tables.

It was such a sight to behold—men and women, eating and laughing together in their workplace without restraint, their work-worn bodies relaxed and made much more lively. The food was plenty and filling, and it showed on their faces. Even Shadwell looked delighted for once as he delivered light banter with his coworkers.

“This is incredible,” he told Madame Tracy. “I never thought the mills could ever look so joyful.”

“Neither did we,” she replied.

He was still transfixed by the scene in front of him when a new presence made itself known.

Crowley, with his polished hair and well-fitted dark suit, entered the room.

He expected there to be silence, but the chatter proceeded unabated. The men around Shadwell scooted on the bench and cleared out a space which Crowley occupied. Shadwell started saying some words, spurring another round of chuckles from his group, with Crowley joining in.

The master grabbed a portion of the food onto his own plate. He ate in between pauses of his talking, to which the people around him listened intently.

It was the most normal group meal Aziraphale had ever witnessed.

He had never seen Crowley so relaxed, the lines on his forehead smoothening. He did not just look carefree but also _vulnerable_. Standing over the balcony, looking down at the mills he looked every bit the demon that people made him out to be. But here, eating with his employees he looked just as human as the rest of them. An ache filled Aziraphale’s chest as he looked on, as he let the entirety of his love for Crowley be realized.

As they neared the end of their meal, Crowley stood from his seat. The chatter died down as all workers waited for him to speak.

“You may already have an idea where this is going,” Crowley began, his head held high as he spoke in a commanding tone. “And we all have done our best to keep it from happening, but I regret to announce that Bentley Mills will need to be shut down.”

A series of disappointed gasps erupted from the crowd.

Crowley continued. “You have worked hard to keep up with the orders, but it simply wasn’t enough and, I am sorry. To have disappointed you.”

A dreadful silence filled the room.

“We have until the end of the week to operate as usual. You will be paid until then, plus an extra two weeks of wages I hope to distribute by next month. If any of you seek work elsewhere, I would be happy to recommend you to other employers I know, assuming of course that your performance here has been no less than stellar.”

Aziraphale waited with bated breath for anyone else to talk, but no one did.

“That would be all. Go back to your stations.”

Shadwell stood, holding out a piece of paper. “You’re mistaken if you think you’re gettin’ rid of us that easily.”

“What’re you on about?”

“You told me this might happen, so I gathered a bit of resources.”

Crowley eyed the paper suspiciously, taking it in his hands and carefully inspecting it.

“That’s a pledge, Master,” said Shadwell. “If you’re ever in a position again to be hiring anyone, that’s a list of everyone willing to do work for you.”

Crowley scanned the page, continuing right to the back, and chuckled. “Suppose I should have expected this. Why didn’t I expect this?”

“We wish you well,” said another of Shadwell’s group. “Milton needs more masters like you.”

Crowley folded the list, tucking it inside his coat. “Well then what’re you all looking at? Get back to work.”

Applause followed him as Crowley walks out of the room.

He was startled by Madame Tracy jabbing him with an elbow. “What’re you waiting there for, lad? Go after him!” And Aziraphale did.

He followed Crowley’s retreating form, exiting out into the courtyard where several people are already resuming their work. Crowley walked still, hands in his pockets, his long legs carrying him to further distance with each stride.

“Crowley!” He picked up his pace. “Crowley, wait!”

Crowley stopped and spun around. Finally, _finally_ , he looked at Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale.” His slight daze broke off. “What are you doing _here?_ ”

He stepped in front of Crowley, but his lungs were failing him. “I couldn’t… What you did… _In London!_ ”

Crowley regarded him for a short while, most likely waiting for him to start making sense. “Did you… Want to tell me something?”

Now that he had Crowley’s attention, words were eluding him. He looked around frantically, trying to gain ideas, then realized that he should probably be looking at Crowley for this and that the man itself had been waiting for him to say _something_.

He let out a long, frustrated scream. Several heads turned to look at him.

“…Aziraphale?”

“Oh, how ever did you _do_ this?” His breathing was way too shallow, far too fast. “I mean to say… W-what I—”

“Shh, shhh, angel.” The word was music to his ears, having thought he would never hear it again. “Calm down.” Crowley glared at some person from behind Aziraphale. “Oi! What’re you staring at? Back to work, all of you!”

Crowley gave his arm a firm squeeze. “Perhaps we should go into my office—”

“—No!” Aziraphale was certain that if he did not proceed with this now, he might never regain the confidence. “No, here is fine.”

Crowley had the most dubious expression, but did not argue further. “Shouldn’t you be in London right now?”

Aziraphale took deep, steady breaths, nodding. “And I will. I will return to London, but not without having expressly told you this first.”

“You couldn’t have just wrote it to me? Goodness, angel, you can barely speak!”

“I was wrong.” He looked up at Crowley, capturing his gaze in his own. Fear and sadness and pain welled up inside him all at once, leaving him teary and trembling. “I should not have accused you of being cruel, or prejudiced. You are not one of those things, indeed you… You are far better. Than anyone.”

“Are you sure you know—”

“I am not done!” He quipped. “Anathema told me everything. I am deeply embarrassed by what I said to you and I am sorry.”

“It’s nothing, Aziraphale, you didn’t need to—”

“But you need to hear it, Crowley,” he pleaded. “And then, what you did for my father… I can’t even begin to thank you for how good of a friend you have been to the both of us.”

Crowley’s expression was unreadable as he took this in. “It’s really fine. I knew of his credentials, and I simply put in a good word in his honour.”

“But it is not so simple to me!” Tears rolled down his cheeks freely, his entire body shaking. He pleaded for Crowley to comprehend. “Do you not see that? Do you not see the kind of power you have over me?”

Crowley stared blankly at him. “Angel…”

“You can undo me with a single word you say, a single action you do. I can think of nothing else but how and where you are and every so often I think of how far away from you I am and I get sad. Crowley, I-I have made a grave mistake.”

“Are you saying—”

“Crowley, I swear to god if you interrupt me again, I might never finish!” He steeled himself again, wiping his tears hastily with his palm. “I simply cannot allow you to think that I was not grateful, because I am. Nor to think that I did not regret refusing to marry you, because I do. I really, really do.”

“Then _what_ do you want from me?” Crowley’s expression crumbled, fingers clenching. “What would you like me to do? Because, for the life of me, I have been trying to figure it out, been trying so hard to give it to you, but I can never get it right!”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Nothing,” he whispered. “I am aware that I have missed out on what may have been my only chance of great happiness. How can I return to London without having told you so? You deserve to know that you are loved, Crowley.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley grabbed his arms, stepping ever so closely. “Are you out of your mind? You told me yourself you are happy in London, now you mean to tell me you want to _marry_ me?”

“Well, what is so wrong about that?” He said, not liking Crowley’s disapproving tone. “Forgive me for thinking my deep affectionate love for you a matter that you ought to know about!”

Crowley placed his hands on his own face, breathing deeply. “Aziraphale, _why_ did you have to do this? I’ve resorted myself to a life alone, and then you had to run back here and ruin everything!” Crowley turned around with dramatic flair and began walking again.

Aziraphale huffed, following. “ _I_ ruined everything? Well I am sorry for not being half as skilled as you are in words of affection, but I rather think that was a moving speech!”

“ _Because,_ Aziraphale, I still want to marry you as well!” Crowley yelled at the top of his lungs, halting to a stop and filling the courtyard with instant silence.

Aziraphale reeled back in shock. He formed a reply, but Crowley wasn’t looking at him but at the workers now probably watching them like some terrible Shakespearian comedy.

Crowley hissed. “In my office. _Now._ ” He grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist, tugging forcefully. He did not let go until they reached the double doors leading to the room.

Aziraphale stopped in the middle of the room. Crowley moved further into the shadows cast by the bookcases, resting a hand on one of them. He took off his lenses, the final barrier to his emotions.

“Now that we are alone, you can be more sincere with me.” Crowley spoke in a heavily guarded tone. “I need the truth from you, and anything you say from now on make sure you are certain of.”

“Crowley…”

In this dimly lit room, Aziraphale finally saw him fully. A man so strong, yet vulnerable. One he has greatly loved and hurt. The different conflicting emotions reflected in his eyes. He didn’t know what to say. What words are enough to soothe a damaged heart? Aziraphale did not know, for none have ever worked on his own.

The only other thing he could do was to show him.

He stepped toward Crowley until they were inches apart. Hesitating a little, his hands lifted to rest on his chest, in a gesture he knew from previous instances calmed Crowley considerably. Crowley’s chest heaved beneath his touch. He waited a few moments to see if he would move away, but he stayed very still. Aziraphale rested the side of his cheek on his shoulder, eyes closing as he breathed in Crowley’s familiar scent.

“All of it is true,” he whispered. “Do not doubt anything I have said to you today. I love you, Anthony Crowley.”

“Then you are mad.” He felt Crowley’s voice rumbling in his chest. “You realize you aren’t to marry a wealthy man anymore.”

“I do not care.” Aziraphale said, pouting. A wave of relief rushed over him. His hands came around Crowley’s torso, hugging tight. “Whatever you wish to do, I will be with you. If you want to build up the mills again, then I’ll help you carry the burden, only do not make me part with you again.”

Crowley’s frame sagged against him. Lips brushed against his crown as Crowley’s arms wound up around his shoulders. Aziraphale sighed softly, fully relaxing in his arms.

“Never, angel,” whispered Crowley sincerely. “I fear I may not survive it.”

He tilted up his head, looking at Crowley. He had never been so handsome, so tranquil. The fact that such an expression was induced by him filled him with a pride that cannot be named. His hands came to rest on Crowley’s cheeks and pulled him down so he can brush his lips with his own.

Aziraphale gave a few tentative pecks, reveling in the softness of Crowley’s lips. It took a while for him to respond, but when he did, he gave his all. Crowley’s hand cradled the back of his head as he deepened the kiss, their mouths gliding past each other. Aziraphale could not have anticipated it. There was an unmatched fervor in Crowley’s kisses that he felt almost guilty of receiving. Though he _should_ have expected it, for Crowley did give. He gave Aziraphale far too much, his heart lain bare from the very beginning. And Aziraphale will never again take it for granted, will spend the rest of his life attempting to deserve it.

He pulled back, amused when Crowley’s first instinct was to chase his lips. He gave him one small peck before tugging on his collar, leading him to sit on the couch.

Aziraphale sat down beside him. He went up on his knees. Looking down on Crowley’s beautiful gaze, he carded his fingers through fiery red hair. Crowley’s eyes drooped shut at the sensation.

“What are you doing to me, angel?” He whispered, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand and pressing featherlight kisses on his knuckles. “Why do I always come back to you?” He trailed his lips up to Aziraphale’s wrist. “Why am I always at your mercy?” He laid Aziraphale’s hand on his cheek, pressing tenderly into it. “Anything you want, angel. I’ll give you anything.”

Aziraphale drew in for a chaste kiss. “I want only to be yours. My dear, what else is there that I could possibly want?”

Crowley chuckled deeply. “Then you shall have it.” He dipped his head, pressing light kisses to the side of Aziraphale’s neck. He growled, nipping lightly at the skin. “ _My angel._ ”

Aziraphale keened at the sound of it, tilting his head to give Crowley more access. He took off his coat, Crowley following suit after. Aziraphale pulled on Crowley’s improperly tied cravat and undid the buttons of his shirt. Crowley set to work on his own waistcoat, then Aziraphale’s.

“You have no idea how long I’ve thought about undoing you,” said Crowley as he palmed the hardness in Aziraphale’s trousers, drawing out a deep moan from him. “Just. Like. _This._ ”

Aziraphale flushed. “You’ve thought about me?” He asked shyly.

“Since I saw you at the Lady’s party, actually.” Crowley leaned into his neck, swiping his tongue on a tender spot behind his ear, eliciting a gasp from Aziraphale. “So damn beautiful. I wanted you completely debauched right then. Bent right over that piano.”

Aziraphale hid his face into Crowley’s shoulder. “Surely that isn’t true…”

“Why must you always oppose me? I felt so sinful, so unworthy for thinking of you then. But I couldn’t resist. Do forgive me, my angel. In my mind we’ve gone through this a hundred different ways.”

Aziraphale was sure his face might burst into flames at any moment. His arms snaked over to Crowley’s back, hugging tightly. “Do not be sorry, love.” He pressed soft kisses to Crowley’s temple, to his cheek, then to his jaw. “You have always been welcome to think of me in any way you like.”

Crowley’s hands curled on his hips possessively. “ _Good._ ”

He pressed a hand on Crowley’s neck, trailing a blazing path down to his chest, eliciting a shiver. “Angel,” he whispered hoarsely. “I think we should move this to my bedroom.”

Aziraphale gave a sly wink and took his hand.

* * *

Aziraphale walked ahead, going out into the courtyard again. This time, he had a cheeky smile as he crossed the grounds to Crowley’s house. Crowley followed a few paces behind, dazed, lenses askew, coat divested, and bared from the neck to his chest between an open shirt.

“Wot?” He glared at the workers who had paused once again to look at them. He glanced at Aziraphale, now by the home’s front door, waiting. “Haven’t you all got something better to do?”

* * *

“Have I ever told you this is such a beautiful house?”

Aziraphale whispered in the dim room. Crowley’s bed was smooth and soft, its covers hanging onto his naked body like second skin. Cradled in Crowley’s arms, he laid his head on his chest and drew lazy patterns on his skin.

“I am both glad that you like it and sorry to be leaving it.”

Aziraphale frowned. “You are quitting the house as well? What a shame.”

Crowley hummed. “It was never mine to begin with, but I had hoped on purchasing my own estate one day.”

“Why would you? They’re all so dreadfully sprawling. One never has real need for that much space.”

“I’ll look for a nice place.” He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s hair. “Might not be as large as this one, but I’ll make certain you will like it.”

The thought made Aziraphale smile.

“—That is, unless…”

“Unless what?”

“I’m getting ahead of myself. If you want to stay in London with Mr. Fell, that would be fine as well.”

Aziraphale frowned, raising his head to look at him. “Why are you so eager to be rid of me? We aren’t even married yet and already you find me tiresome!”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Crowley hastened to reassure, hands rubbing up and down Aziraphale’s arms. “I do not want to uproot you, but right now I am uncertain as to where my next ventures will lead me. I insist you stay somewhere you are most comfortable.”

“Then that is too bad, because I insist on never leaving you.” Aziraphale kissed him once. Twice. And because he was still in disbelief that he was allowed to, three times. “I am so happy that Elmwood made me realize how madly in love with you I am.”

A scowl appeared on Crowley’s face. “Please do not speak that man’s name in such a perfect moment.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I am serious! He looks at you as if he means to covet you as a prize.”

Aziraphale reveled in his reaction. “And looking is all he will ever do.” To amplify his point, he grabbed Crowley’s hand and guided it to his bare waist, past down to his hips. Crowley took command then, sliding out back to grab his arse, garnering a pleasant squeak from Aziraphale.

Crowley growled into his ear, sending delightful shivers down his spine. “I win.”

“I must not get so attached to this house,” Aziraphale said, sighing. “But I am already quite taken by it. It holds many fond memories.”

“I am sorry that it had to come to this. If there was any way to keep it, I would have done so.”

Aziraphale blinked, thinking. He sits up.

Crowley sat up as well, confused.

“What if there is?”

“Angel, do not joke about this.”

“I am serious! Not just the house, but everything!” Aziraphale grasped his hands. “We must see Newton directly!”

“What, _now?_ Can’t it wait?” He said blearily, kissing Aziraphale’s shoulder. “We’ve only just got here, and I am quite ready to go for another round.”

Aziraphale flushed from his face down to his chest, a trait which he would later find that Crowley thought most endearing. He buried his face in Crowley’s neck, his hand trailing down from Crowley’s chest, to his stomach and to his thigh. He purred. “Then get on with it, _Master_ Crowley.”

* * *

They were at the Pulsifers’ residence the next day, waiting for Newton to appear.

“Aziraphale, are you quite sure about this?”

“You want to save the mills, don’t you?”

Crowley sighed. “Of course I do. But—”

“Then no buts! Unless you can come up with another solution, we shall go with this one.”

Newton appeared, surprised to see the two. He greeted them politely, but also confusedly.

“Delighted to see you again!” Aziraphale exclaimed. They all took a seat about the drawing room. Newton looked nervously between the two of them.

“H-have I done something wrong?”

“No, dear, of course not!” Aziraphale looked to Crowley, grabbing his hand. _If we do this, we do this together._

Newton’s eyes grew wide, looking pointedly at their joined hands. “When… when did that—”

“We’re here to talk to you about your intentions with Anathema,” Crowley drawled, effectively shutting him up.

* * *

Next, they spoke to Lady Yvonne—the most crucial part of Aziraphale’s plan. If they cannot convince her to agree to the terms, then none of this can ever work, but Aziraphale looked to Crowley, thought of families like Shadwell and Madame Tracy and their neighbors, and knew in his heart that it was worth every bit for them to try.

She joined them in the drawing room, evidently looking miffed about being summoned so abruptly. She raised a brow at the three.

“Well? I do not have all day.”

Aziraphale sent a look at Newton, who was briefly baffled by it before comprehension dawned.

“Ah, yes. Um,” Newton began lamely. “Mother, I would like to inform you that there is someone I would like to marry.”

Lady Yvonne sat still for a while, taking a deep breath as she rubbed her temples. “Very well, then.” She glossed her look over to Aziraphale and Crowley. “Which one of you is it?”

“Mummy, no!” Newton erupted just as Aziraphale raised a finger, saying “ _Well, actually—_ ” and Crowley made noises of gagging.

“It is Anathema Device, Crowley’s sister!” Newton exclaimed.

Lady Yvonne eyed Crowley suspiciously. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

“No, of course not!” Crowley retorted. “Lord knows I’ll never be able to get Anathema to do anything she does not wish to.”

“And,” Aziraphale cut in, “I have it on good authority that she means to accept.”

“So, what? You mean to extract my blessing?”

“Well,” said Crowley, “That and… We too have a proposal for you. A business proposal.”

Lady Yvonne folded her hands in her lap. “What could you possibly have that will interest me?”

She grew serious, staring Crowley down. Crowley matched her stare equally, a silent appraising battle formed between long-term rivals with mutual respect.

“As you may know,” began Crowley, “I mean to shut down Bentley Mills soon. But recently it was brought up to me that, that it might be more beneficial to consider a merger of sorts…”

“We think the unification of your two families will be a great opportunity to unify your resources as well,” Aziraphale supplied.

“Unify resources?” Lady Yvonne scoffed. “Crowley, I know how desperate you are to save your precious mills, but what will _I_ be getting out of this bargain?”

Crowley blanched. They had not discussed this part of the plan. He looked to Aziraphale, imploring for help. In this split second, Aziraphale smoothly interpreted his look, turning back to Lady Yvonne. “Why, you will get Crowley, of course!”

Lady Yvonne blinked. “I will… _get_ _…_ Crowley.” She uttered awkwardly.

“ _Hell_ no, angel!” Crowley shot up from his seat. “I did _not_ just spend all that time attempting to win you over just for you to give me away like—”

“Dearest, do shut up. Please.” Aziraphale patted his arm. Crowley, slack-jawed, returned to his seat. “Let me do all the talking.”

He turned back to the Lady. “Forgive me, madame, but I know that you have been of ill health for some time now and in need of retirement.”

She looked at him stiffly. “I did not know you to be snooping around this house, Aziraphale.”

“But please, just consider this. The possibility of full retirement, of living your days worry-free and without sacrificing the mills you’ve spent your whole life building up.” Aziraphale smiled, taking Crowley’s hand in his own. “I know you worry about the future of the mills, after you are gone. And that is also what Crowley is going through right now, only worse. But you can help each other.”

“I am not interested in selling out my life’s work, Aziraphale.”

“That is exactly it! This way, you will not be selling it at all. You will pass it on to Newton—”

Newton straightened in his seat. “What? N-no, I—”

“—Under the watchful eye and management of Crowley.” The thought made Aziraphale warm, and he cannot resist clasping Crowley’s arm and snuggling a bit to his side. “For whom else can you entrust your great mills but to your most formidable rival?” Crowley turned to look at him with dumbstruck awe.

“That is actually quite brilliant,” Crowley remarked, leaning into him.

It took all of his energy to ignore Crowley. “Consider it, Lady Yvonne. Crowley is brilliant and most of all, _young_. He has plenty of time to devote to the mills and whip Newton into shape.”

“Or-or any of my future _children_ ,” Newton interjected.

Lady Yvonne seemed to mull it over seriously. “I suppose,” she drawled, “That if anyone is to take over my mills, I’d rather it be you, Crowley, than any of those buffoons.”

Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale perked up. “So you will do it? You agree to the terms?”

Lady Yvonne waved her hand. “Fine. I’ve a tour around South America that I have been putting off anyway. _That_ is my take on an ideal retirement.”

Crowley stood up, extending a hand to her. She shook it firmly. “Come by my office tomorrow and we will discuss the details,” she said.

“I am indebted to you, Lady Yvonne,” Crowley replied, grinning fully.

She stood. To Crowley’s surprise, she tightened her grip briefly and pulls him close. “ _Take care of my son,_ ” she whispered in a tone that was equal parts caring and menacing.

Crowley flexed his crushed fingers as she exited the room.

Newton and Aziraphale looked to each other in disbelief. “I cannot believe that worked,” said Aziraphale.

“That was genius,” Newton remarked.

Aziraphale stood up, beaming. Crowley remained still, staring blankly at the wall behind him. “Well, Crowley? How was it?”

Crowley strode off to him, and with one hand behind Aziraphale’s head and the other to his back, drew him into a passionate kiss.

Newton whistled. “I-I think I should… I mean, this is _my_ house but, don’t mind it. I will leave.” They took no notice of him.

Crowley muttered in between soft pecks to Aziraphale’s lips. “You are—the most—brilliant creature— _God, marry me—_ I have to have you.”

Aziraphale burst into giggles. “I love you so much, Crowley.” Because he would never tire of saying it.

“You have me utterly bewitched, angel.”

“Then, about your proposal,” he replied cheekily. “Why don’t you come by my house and we may _discuss the_ _details._ ”

Crowley hooked his fingers in Aziraphale’s waistcoat and winked. “I like the sound of that.”

That night, before Aziraphale retreated with Crowley to his bedroom and unraveled him completely, he managed to send a hastily written letter to his father saying that he wished him well in his new post, but that he will not be returning to London now, nor for the foreseeable future.

And, of course, that under no circumstances will Gabriel, or any of his cousins, be invited to the wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to everyone who have stuck around for this story! I'm still a bit shocked that I was able to finish the whole thing cause I'm usually a one-shots writer type of person, so this was a relatively large project for me to undertake, and one that I probably never would have gotten around to had it not been for the coronavirus lockdown (hope yall are safe out there!)
> 
> Regarding the (final) proposal scene: I apologize if it was a bit silly. A huge part of getting the tone for this story was based on my repeated watching of Emma. (2020) and I absolutely adore their take on Knightley's proposal and the fact that just because the story is in a Regency setting doesn't mean that proposals have to be dramatic and boring and utterly perfect. I loved the silliness factor and the fact that sometimes, much as we would like everything to be perfect, we can be betrayed by our own bodies and our environment. And I wanted to capture that spirit in this story, particularly when it's Aziraphale who finally chooses to become vulnerable.
> 
> Epilogue will be posted very soon. Hope you all got to enjoy the story and are satisfied with its resolution! This was extremely therapeutic for me to write. I began to plot it when I was suffering from a rather severe episode of anxiety, and to be able to create something that just magically combines several things that I love has been a huge part of my healing process. Getting to share it with others is an even better part of it, and I really appreciate every single person who gave this story a chance. For now, I'll probably go back to writing more GOmens oneshots. Love you all xx


	9. Epilogue - New Milton

**EPILOGUE - New Milton**

**_One year later_ ** **_…_ **

_“I didn’t permit any of you to go all spotty on me! I disappear for one week and already you’ve gone all sloppy! Grow. Better!”_

Aziraphale walked down the stairs of Crowley’s (and now also his) home, rolling his eyes at the voice echoing from the direction of the garden. Hearing Crowley murderously yelling at his plants would still take some getting used to, though he was starting to grow accustomed to it, and would sometimes even try to console the plants when he could. He met with his visitor at the bottom.

“Captain Elmwood, it is good to see you.”

Elmwood gave him a cheeky smile as they took their seats in the parlour. “I-Is that Crowley? _Yelling_ in the garden?”

He nodded, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. “He’s convinced that reasoning with them will make them grow better.” Upon seeing Elmwood’s confused look, he continued, “I do not pretend to understand it, but as with any relationships, we learn to compromise.”

“Ah,” said Elmwood, nodding. “I suppose I must congratulate the newlyweds again. Did you enjoy your honeymoon?”

He flushed. He and Crowley had been home only two days since their one-week honeymoon ended. Crowley would have wanted it to be longer, but Aziraphale was adamant about returning to Milton as soon as possible to attend to his new project. “You need not to, you were at the wedding after all.”

“All the same. So, I understand that you and Crowley have been making great progress with the mills.”

Aziraphale nodded. “We are not quite done with it, but we are extremely satisfied with what we’ve done so far.” The merged businesses of Lady Yvonne and Crowley has had many drawbacks that needed dealing with, but they were able to conquer each one. He did not wish to stop there, however, for his and Crowley’s visions for what the mills could be have led to new and rather risky ventures that they simply cannot do on their own.

“Then, how may I be of service?” Elmwood asked.

Aziraphale smiled, relieved that he did not need to be eased into the idea. “You see, we have been experimenting with a new business model which we hope would prevent workers’ strikes in the future.”

“So I’ve heard. And it does sound fetching. Have you got the other masters on board the idea?”

Aziraphale cringed. “We are… working on that. So far, only Ligur has signed up to collaborate.”

Elmwood chuckled. “You can do it. I believe you extremely capable of getting your way when you determine so.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale grinned, knowing it might well be true, if he had anything to say about it. “Anyway, so the New Milton Mills, that is the collaborated form of Crowley’s and the Lady’s businesses, has initiated a social development branch of which I act as President.”

“I congratulate you. A social development program within a business structure sounds a very modern innovation indeed. What exactly do you do with it?” Elmwood placed his chin on his hand.

“I am glad that you think so.” He launched headlong into the explanation. “Basically, I oversee a committee which reaches out to the workers and their families, provide scholarship programs to children, and create channels over which workers and masters can exchange thoughts on equal footing.”

“I am quite taken with the part where you provide scholarships. That’s a rather grand idea, Aziraphale. I really commend you for this.”

“Actually, that one was Crowley’s idea,” said Aziraphale, beaming with pride. “He was quite insistent that children of labourers be granted schooling in the sciences. He thinks them to be the elite workforce of the future.”

Elmwood nodded in understanding. “Interesting. And do you think that this model will be plausible in the long run?”

“I believe so,” he replied confidently. “I mean, we may need to shift some things along the way, but I feel that if we get a reasonable number of merchants on board it definitely will be. And you, Captain, I think will be pivotal to that.”

“You think much too highly of me, my friend.”

“I shouldn’t think so!” Aziraphale scoffed. “You are well-liked, extremely charming, and a gentleman of means and great connections. If you would be amenable to being a principal sponsor to this program, I can organize several charity events, invite people like you, and advertise the merits of participating in the program.”

“That sounds like a most bothersome thing, having to invite all those drabs into one place,” Elmwood said, smiling.

“Alas, dear, it is a necessary evil.” Aziraphale laughed. “But I daresay that these people need only have their egos stroked. Maybe even turn it into a competitive streak against one another, so that their money may be used for good for once.”

“Capital,” said Elmwood, extremely amused.

“So you will do it?”

“Of course I will!”

Crowley chose that moment to enter the room, dressed in his outerwear. He gave Elmwood a long stare, still wary over him after all this time. He walked over to Aziraphale and kissed the top of his head. “I’m going out, angel. Do you want anything?”

Aziraphale’s eyes sparked with joy. “That brioche from that bakery I like. I’m feeling quite peckish.”

“Aren’t you always?” Crowley grinned fondly. He looked at Elmwood. “Hello.”

“Crowley,” greeted Elmwood, now even more amused.

“Actually,” Aziraphale got up from his seat. “I was thinking of visiting Madame Tracy today. Shall I walk with you outside?”

“Sure.”

“Great! I will just get my hat.” Aziraphale paused, pressed a hand to Crowley’s chest and kissed his cheek. “Be back in a jiffy, my love.” He bounded back up the staircase without seeing Crowley’s reddened cheeks.

Once Aziraphale was out of earshot, Elmwood burst out into light laughter.

Crowley scowled. “What’s so funny?”

“Come on, Crowley, don’t look at me like that,” he said, wiping the tears brimming on his eyes. “I am your friend. I’m not going to steal him from under your nose.”

“You can’t,” Crowley corrected.

“Of course I can’t! He’s well taken with you, the soppy lad. There is no one quite blind enough not to see it.” Elmwood shook his head, tamping down laughter. “Thought you might also like to know that I myself am happily betrothed.”

“Really?” Crowley said, genuinely surprised. “To whom?”

“Camilla and I have decided to patch things up. And I am quite in love with her, you know.”

“My congratulations. I never pinned you to be the type to settle down.”

“That was the old me. I have been considering marriage for quite some time now, only I was not successful with my first attempt.”

Crowley raised his brow. “Was this attempt somehow…” He trailed off, afraid to know if his conjecture was indeed correct. Elmwood nodded. Crowley averted his gaze instantly to the window, this obviously being news to him just now.

“Why did he never tell me?” Crowley whispered.

“How _did_ you do it, by the way? I was most painfully rejected when I proposed.”

“You and me both,” Crowley muttered.

Elmwood’s eyebrows shot up. “Then… How?”

At this, Crowley regained confidence. He grinned, reminding himself that he won. Fair and square. And it’s because…

“Elmwood, you must know the most fundamental rules to my husband’s character,” he said smoothly. “One of which is that you do not propose to Aziraphale. _He_ proposes to _you_.”

Aziraphale reappeared at this moment. “Well, shall we all go outside? Captain, where are you heading to?”

Elmwood stood up, smoothing down his coat. “I am to visit my fiancee, actually. She is staying at an inn at the eastern end.”

“You are affianced!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He turned to Crowley, squeezing his arm. “My love, he is engaged!”

“Is he now?” Crowley said with forced enthusiasm. “Allow me to extend my congratulations.”

Elmwood laughed. “Thank you. Indeed, I can hope for nothing more than a marriage as happy as yours.”

“Oh, I am certain it will be, if you do love her so,” said Aziraphale. “Am I not right, love?”

Crowley scoffed, his cheeks reddened again by Aziraphale’s blatant shows of affection—one that he still hasn’t gotten used to. “Dunno. It’s quite a difficult feat.”

Aziraphale slapped his arm. “Do be more generous with your felicitations.” He then turned to Elmwood. “We are very happy for you and wish you all the best.”

They accompanied Elmwood to his carriage and parted ways amicably. Aziraphale watched him drive away, hanging onto Crowley’s arm in what was by now second nature to him. He looked up at Crowley, grinning.

“What?” Crowley asked, puzzled.

Aziraphale gazed dreamily at him. “I am so proud of you.”

Crowley scoffed, sure that he has had more than his fill of compliments for today. “Can’t we just… Just go?”

“No. I delight in seeing you so flustered. It does well for your dashing good looks.” He nuzzled Crowley’s shoulder. “Indeed I do not know how I have been so lucky.”

Crowley would like to tell him that he was wrong, that _he_ was the lucky one. He wanted to tell him many things as well. How beautiful were the shape of his eyes. How wonderful his laugh. How remarkable his wit, and how utterly perfect he is in every way imaginable. That at night he sleeps with a besotted angel, and every morning he awakens with a piece of heaven in his arms.

But, because he was Crowley, what he actually said was a bunch of wordless garble, which Aziraphale was perfectly capable of deciphering.

Aziraphale laughed and began to walk with him. “Now, my love, where would you like to have lunch today?”

Aziraphale began listing down a number of his favored restaurants, and to Crowley his voice resonated like music to his ears.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone! 'Til the next one!


End file.
